John and Rose
by Bohemian Anne
Summary: The sequel to The Calverts and Rose Goes On, in which John Calvert and Rose Dawson marry and start a new family.
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_Cedar Rapids, Iowa  
August 7, 1926_

_Boring,_ Mary thought. _This is boring._

It was another long, hot summer day. School wouldn't be back in session for a few weeks yet, all of her friends were away or at home, and the play she had taken a part in had finished last week. Only Nadia was around, but she was perfectly content to sit and read all day, and only wanted to go into town once in a while. There was nothing to do.

At least the fair was in town. That was something. She and Nadia were going in the evening, after the temperature cooled down a little. But until then, there was nothing to do.

Mary sat up from where she had been lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to think of something to do. _I could read a play,_ she thought, glancing at her bookcase. _No, I've already done that, and I know most of them by heart anyway. I could play the phonograph, but I'm tired of that. Maybe I could walk into town and go shopping, look for a new dress or maybe a new record. Maybe, if I'm lucky, the bookstore will have something new, but I doubt it. This town is so slow to get new things!_

She paced over to her mirror, patting her short red curls admiringly. Not everything was that bad. Her father had finally let her get her hair bobbed in the latest style, and even he had to admit that she looked good. Unfortunately, at least as far as her father was concerned, the boys thought she looked good too, and had been flocking around her even more than before.

_Maybe I can go find Russell,_ she thought, her expression brightening. It faded when she remembered that he had to spend most of his time working in his father's grocery store. A long summer day, with no school, and she couldn't find a thing to do!

Mary wandered downstairs, passing Nadia, who was stretched out on the couch reading. She looked longingly at the telephone, wishing that more of her friends had telephones. But only two of them did, and one was away on a vacation with her family, while the other had gone to riding camp for the week. Maybe she could call Grandma or Aunt Rose, but they were probably both at work. She might be able to reach Christopher, but who wanted to talk to a little thirteen-year-old who liked to turn anything she said into a dirty joke?

In desperation, Mary flopped down on Nadia's feet. Nadia yelped and sat up, glaring at her sister.

"What?" she asked, setting the book aside.

Mary sighed. "I'm bored."

"So find something to do."

"Wanna go into town?"

"You know Dad doesn't like us going into town alone when he isn't home."

"There's nothing else to do."

"You could try reading a book."

Mary rolled her eyes. Nadia had no understanding of her need for excitement. Her sister was content to just let the days pass by, but Mary wanted more.

"Dad won't be home until six o'clock. We'll be home before then."

"Mrs. Pierce is coming to clean house today. She'll tell Dad if we aren't home when she gets here."

"So we'll leave her a note saying that we went to visit friends. Dad lets us do that. And it wouldn't be a complete lie," she added. "We could stop and see Russell Fuller."

"Russell Fuller is a moron. He'll never get out of this town, or away from his father's grocery store. You'd better be careful what boys you chase, Mary. You have big dreams, and he's not going to give you what you want. You'll wind up living in this town forever."

"_You_ want to stay here."

"Not forever. I want to go to college and do something with my life."

"So do I. Except for the college part. School is boring."

"That's your opinion." Nadia reached for her book.

Mary gave her a pleading look. "Come on. Let's get out of here for a while."

"No. Dad told us to stay home."

"You are such a goody two-shoes!"

"I'm the one who gets to go out on Saturday nights. You keep getting grounded."

"You and Dad are so alike. No sense of adventure at all. It's amazing that you're not really related to him."

Nadia opened her book again, waving her sister off. Exasperated, Mary stalked out of the parlor, her mind still going over ways to entertain herself.

XXXXX

"It's about time Dad let us leave!" Mary exclaimed, striding down the road beside Nadia. "I thought we wouldn't get out until the fair was over."

"We have four hours until it closes for the night, and it's only a mile there," Nadia reminded her, not at all perturbed by her sister's aggravation.

"Four hours! That's not very long! We won't have time to do much of anything."

"You could have asked Dad if we could go during the day, instead of complaining about how bored you were. Then we would have had plenty of time."

"There's only little kids at the fair during the day. I like it better at night. That's when the interesting people are there."

Nadia rolled her eyes. "You just want to chase boys."

"I like boys."

"Me, too, but you don't see me making a fool of myself."

"You just don't know how to have fun."

Nadia raised an eyebrow at her. "Don't have too much fun." She smirked.

Mary hit her on the arm. "You're as bad as Christopher." She ran ahead a few feet. "Race you there!"

Nadia took off after her sister, the two sixteen-year-old girls giggling uncontrollably as they headed toward the lights and crowds of the fair.

XXXXX

Mary and Nadia roamed around the fair for a couple of hours, stopping to buy snacks and play a few games. Mary tried to be blasé about everything, considering Nadia's enthusiasm childish, but even she couldn't resist the Ferris wheel and the merry-go-round. Nadia teased her about it.

"You're so grown up," she commented as Mary sat on one of the merry-go-round horses, her delight in the ride unmistakable.

Mary just stuck her tongue out at her, waving to a boy from school as the ride went around. Nadia laughed at her, but Mary ignored her sister.

When the ride ended, the two girls joined a group of kids from their high school and walked through the fair some more, cheering the boys on as they vied to see who could eat the most hot dogs at once. Nadia looked at them with a distasteful expression as they crammed food into their mouths, but it didn't stop her from giggling and egging the boys on.

One boy emerged the winner, while the other two staggered around, looking a little ill. The winner pumped his hands in the air and offered to buy soda pop for the losers, but the vendor had been watching them and refused to sell to the teenagers.

Mary and Nadia left the group shortly thereafter and resumed walking around.

"Those boys are so immature," Mary told her sister, casting a backward glance at the group they had left.

Nadia looked at her skeptically. "You were just chasing Joe last month."

"That was last month. I've outgrown him."

"Whatever you say. I bet you'll be flirting with him again when school starts."

"No way. I saw Jim Peterson while we were on the Ferris wheel."

"So?"

"So did you see how good he looks? He's really filled out."

"You would notice that."

"He's the one I want for my boyfriend."

"Until you see someone better looking."

Mary shook her head. "How can anyone be better looking? Except for some of those movie stars."

They were interrupted by a man in a neat, three-piece suit. "Excuse me, ladies. I couldn't help but hear you talking about movie stars. Have you ever met any in person?"

"Yes," Nadia responded, a little rudely. "Our Aunt Rose is a movie star." Something about the man's expression made her wary. He had the look of someone trying a little too hard to win confidence.

"Nadia!" Mary elbowed her in the ribs. "Our aunt is Rose Dawson. I'm going to be an actress someday, too." The man's expression didn't bother Mary at all.

"Are you? Have you ever been on the stage?"

"Yes. Lots of times."

"I see. And you?" He looked at Nadia, trying to win her confidence again.

"No." Nadia's voice was even more rude. He reminded her of the carnie folks, the ones who ran games that no one could win. Untrustworthy.

"Nadia's shy," Mary explained. "I'm not."

"I can see that." His smile grew wider as he looked her over. "I'm sure you'll be a big success. You're certainly pretty enough."

Mary smiled, delighted at such praise from a perfect stranger.

"In fact..." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a business card. "I'm in the business myself. Richard Ross, director."

"Really?" Mary's face lit up. "Have you ever met Rose Dawson?"

"I haven't had the pleasure of working with her, but she is an excellent actress. I have a feeling you could be even better."

Nadia rolled her eyes in disgust. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she told Mary, heading in the direction of a drink stand.

Mary waved her off, then turned back to Ross, taking the card he offered. "I'll be out of high school in another couple of years," she told him. "When I get to Hollywood, I'll look you up."

"You could go to Hollywood right now," he replied, giving her a friendly smile. "In fact, that's what I'm here for. I'm looking for the next big star."

"Really?" Mary's pulse jumped, hoping that he was considering her.

"Yes. Are you familiar with Mabel Love?"

Mary shook her head, wishing that she had heard of her. She didn't want to appear ignorant in front of this man.

"She's one of the fastest rising stars today, and I discovered her. She's still new," he added, "which may be why you haven't heard of her. I think you share her talent. How would you like to go to Hollywood and become a star?"

"I'd love to," Mary responded, "but I'm kind of stuck here right now..."

"I'll pay your way there. You can pay me back when you start working. You have the looks and the talent. All you need is someone to promote you."

"I'll have to think about it..." Mary hesitated, a little suspicious as to why a Hollywood director would be recruiting actresses in Iowa. She quickly pushed the thought from her head. He was perfectly legitimate. He was just looking for new talent, was all. She looked at his business card. "I'd like to..."

"Well, make up your mind. I've got places to be. I'll be leaving on the 12:30 train tonight."

"Tonight?" Mary was a little alarmed. She didn't have much time to think.

"I have to find the perfect actress to star in my next picture," he explained, smiling smoothly at her, "and I haven't much time."

Mary thought quickly. She might never get such an opportunity again. How many girls from Midwestern towns were discovered by Hollywood directors? It wasn't something she could pass up.

"I'll be at the train station at 12:15," she told him, tucking the card into her pocket. "What time is it now?"

"It's almost 10:30. Better hurry, if you want to make the train." He smiled at her. "Oh, and by the way, it's best not to let anyone know where you're going. Your family might not let you go. I've seen too many talented young actresses lose their chance because their families didn't think they were ready to be on their own."

"I won't say anything," Mary assured him. Inside, she was a little worried about leaving without telling her father or Nadia, but she reasoned that she could call once she got to Hollywood. Certainly, Aunt Rose would welcome her. Her father would understand how much it meant to her once she got there, and he would let her stay with Aunt Rose until she was on her own. She could even go to school while she was there.

"I'll see you later," she told him, smiling brightly and hurrying after her sister.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Mary skipped along the road beside Nadia, as excited as a child at Christmas. Nadia looked at her strangely, wondering what had made her bored, sulking sister so happy.

"All right. What is it?"

"What?" Mary gave Nadia an innocent look.

"What's made you so silly? Two hours ago you were thoroughly bored, and considered yourself ever so much more mature than those boys. Now, you're acting like a little kid."

"I'm perfectly mature," Mary replied, but couldn't wipe the excited grin from her face.

"It's not that phony director we met, is it? If you really think you're about to be discovered, you're even dumber than you usually act. He's a fraud."

"He's not a fraud!" Mary retorted, annoyed by her sister's lack of enthusiasm for her pretty dreams. "He's a real Hollywood director."

"Oh, yeah? And have you read about him in any of your movie magazines?"

Mary shrugged. "He's probably only directed art films. Those aren't usually in the movie magazines."

Nadia rolled her eyes. "You are so dumb. You'd fall for anything."

"I would not! He's a real director, and he's going to make me a star!"

"Uh-huh. And how do you know he's a real director?"

"He gave me his business card. Look." Mary dug the card out of her pocket.

"I already saw that. How do you know he's a real director?"

"I already told you! Would he have a business card if he wasn't?"

"Business cards are easy to get. Dad gives out hundreds of them."

"And Dad's a real businessman."

"That's not the point. He just gets them printed up by someone in town. Anyone can do that."

"And why would someone pretend to be a director if they weren't?"

"To lure young, pretty girls."

Mary looked at Nadia disdainfully. "You read too many crime novels."

"I read the newspaper, too. Besides, I didn't like the way he looked. He was too sincere."

"How can a person be too sincere? I swear, you are much too suspicious."

"How can a person be too suspicious?" Nadia countered. "Mark my words, Mary, he's up to no good. The most he might do is take some nude pictures of you—if nothing worse. Why would a director look for actresses in Iowa, anyway? There's hundreds of actresses all over Hollywood. If you want to be an actress, finish high school and then get Aunt Rose to help you."

"Aunt Rose isn't a director. She doesn't make movies."

"No, but she's a big star. She knows a lot of people who make movies."

"Actresses get discovered every day, in the strangest places. Mr. Ross is just looking for undiscovered talent."

"Yeah, right. A few actresses get discovered—mainly in places like Hollywood and New York. Why would anyone look for an actress in Cedar Rapids?"

"I've had my name in the newspaper a few times."

"Which I'm sure he's read. Right. Face it, Mary, you're just being stupid if you think he'll get you anywhere."

"I'm not being stupid." Mary turned to glower at Nadia. "I'm as smart as you are. Maybe I want different things out of life, but I'm not stupid!"

Nadia sighed. "Fine. You're not stupid. Unless, of course, you really believe this fellow is what he says he is. You have to watch out for people like that. Even Aunt Rose says so."

"Aunt Rose didn't get discovered."

"Actually, she did. Remember? She got discovered—"

"—on the set of a Civil War picture. That's not the same. She was already an actress then."

"So are you. You go on stage every chance you get."

"I want to be a movie star."

Nadia sighed in exasperation. "Good. Be a movie star. But get Aunt Rose to help you, not some stranger you met at the fair. I bet he won't even be around Hollywood in two years."

"I think he will." Mary smiled to herself. _Especially,_ she thought, _if he has a talented actress to appear in his movies. I'm going to be that actress._

Nadia eyed her suspiciously. "You'd better not run off. Dad will lock you up until you're eighteen if you do. Remember how the older sister of that one girl we knew back in New York tried to run off to Hollywood? She wound up on the streets before she finally got home."

"That's just a rumor. Besides, she didn't know anyone."

"If you run off to Aunt Rose, she'll ship you back here so fast your head will spin."

"I won't run off to Aunt Rose."

"Don't run off to anyone else, either," Nadia warned.

Mary gave her a secretive smile. "Don't worry. I won't."


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Mary stood at her bedroom door, her heart pounding with anticipation. This was it—the moment when she would take that first step toward realizing her dreams. She knew that Nadia thought she was being foolish, but what did her calm, staid sister know? Nadia was so shy—she would never make it as an actress, even if she wanted to be one.

Mary turned off the light and peeked out the door, making sure no one was around. Nadia would run to their father with the news of what Mary was up to if she knew, and if her father caught her—well, Mary didn't even want to think of what the consequences would be then. She would probably be grounded until Christmas—if not longer.

The lights were out in both her father and sister's rooms, and also in her father's study. Carrying her suitcase in one hand, she tiptoed down the hall, glad for the thick carpet that muffled her footsteps. She slowly made her way down the stairs, glad that her father had had the house built so well. None of the stairs squeaked when she walked on them, and the thick carpet from the upstairs hall also covered the stairs, muffling her footsteps even more.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Mary removed her shoes. Holding them in one hand, she tiptoed across the hardwood floor, looking back every so often to be sure she hadn't been caught. When she reached the front door, she put her shoes back on and quietly opened it.

She felt a surprising wave of sadness as she looked out the door. This had been her home for four years, and now she was leaving it. She might come back to visit, but not to live.

Mary squelched the sudden feeling of sadness. She was going to be a great actress—maybe even greater than Aunt Rose. She would buy her own mansion in Los Angeles, like the ones she had seen when she and Nadia and their grandmother had visited Aunt Rose in 1917, while their father was away fighting in the Great War. Anyway, she wouldn't be alone. Aunt Rose would surely take her in until she could pay her own way...in spite of what Nadia thought. Her aunt would understand how much this meant to her. Aunt Rose knew all about following dreams.

A thought occurred to Mary as she quietly closed the door behind her. Maybe she could invite Nadia to live with her after she finished high school. There must be universities in California—in fact, Aunt Rose had written to them and told them about a new university in Los Angeles—UCLA. Nadia could go there.

She would still miss her father, of course...but maybe he could buy a vacation house in California. The Calverts were the wealthiest family in Cedar Rapids, so she was sure he could afford it. Or maybe she could buy him a house when she had enough money. Movie stars made a lot of money—Aunt Rose was almost as rich as them, though she didn't seem to find that very important.

Mary shrugged to herself as she started across the yard. She would miss her family, but what she was heading for was well worth it. Her mind full of visions of the future, she opened the gate.

Allegro wagged his tail slowly, walking stiffly up to her. The elderly animal had severe arthritis, but the sight of the children he had spent his life with always made him want to act like a puppy, even though it was no longer possible. She patted his head, sad at the thought that this would probably be the last time she saw the dog, and stepped through the gate, closing it behind her.

Mary hurried down the road, realizing how close to midnight it was. She had to hurry if she was going to take the 12:30 train to California with Mr. Ross.

She glanced back once as she turned the corner onto the paved road. A light shone in Nadia's window. She stared for a moment, certain that she could see her sister leaning out and looking around. She hurried around the corner, not wanting Nadia to see her.

Her dreams were too important to let her sister stop her.

XXXXX

Nadia stood at her window, looking down at the street below. She couldn't believe what she saw.

Mary was hurrying down the road, a suitcase in her hand. Nadia would never have known what was going on, but the gate had banged behind Mary, waking her up. That, and Allegro's mournful yelping, had sent her leaping out of bed, flipping on the light switch and leaning out her open window to see what was going on.

At first, she had hoped that the person hurrying down the road was just a drifter, scared off by Allegro. But a second glance had told her that wasn't the case. No drifter had such a nice dress, or those ridiculous high-heeled shoes that Mary insisted on wearing everywhere.

Nadia leaned farther out the window, almost slipping, when she saw Mary turn and look in her direction. She tried to wave to her, to let her know she had been seen, but Mary simply turned and hurried off, down the street and around the corner.

Where was she going? Nadia wondered. This wasn't just a midnight stroll—not that Mary usually took midnight strolls. The one time she'd tried to sneak out to meet a boy her father disapproved of, she'd tried to climb down the trellis under her bedroom window—and had slipped and broken her wrist. That was the end of sneaking out. Their father hadn't bothered to ground her—the broken wrist was more than enough punishment, in his opinion. It seemed that Mary had learned her lesson—until tonight.

Suddenly wanting to be sure of what she had seen—it was dark, after all—Nadia slipped from her room and tried Mary's door. It was unlocked.

She slipped inside, looking around. There appeared to be someone sleeping in Mary's bed, but when she flopped down, as she often did to awaken her lazy sister, it proved to be nothing more than pillows and blankets arranged under the covers.

Quickly, Nadia got up, flipping on the light and looking into Mary's closet. There was no doubt about it—it was Mary she had seen on the road. Her suitcase was missing, along with some of her clothes. She looked closer, realizing that Mary's best formal dress was missing.

Where had her sister gone? Nadia wondered, closing the closet door. She wouldn't have run off with that phony director they had met—would she? A quick glance at Mary's shelf confirmed that several books of plays were missing—Mary's prized possessions. But what convinced her was the note on Mary's vanity.

_Dad, Nadia,_

_I know that you think I should finish high school before starting an acting career, but I've met someone who can open all those doors for me. He is a real director, Nadia, in spite of what you might think. Dad, don't worry about me. I'll stay with Aunt Rose until I can pay my own way. Please don't spoil this for me. You know how much this means to me._

_With love,  
Mary_

Nadia swore under her breath—something she rarely did. Cursing definitely wasn't ladylike, though Mary often did it to defy convention. Never in front of their father, though, who had been known to shove a bar of soap into the mouth of a foul-mouthed child.

Mary was heading for California with a fake director she had met at the fair. Her sister's stupidity defied Nadia's understanding. Of course, Mary often acted first and thought later—a trait that had gotten her into trouble more than once.

Maybe there was still time. If they could catch up to her before she reached the train station, or before the train pulled away, they might be able to stop her. God only knew what the "director" had in mind. It wasn't anything good, Nadia was sure. Real directors didn't look for actresses in small Midwestern towns, or encourage them to run away from home. Besides, if he'd been a real director, they would have heard of him. Mary loved movie magazines, memorizing their contents as though they held the secrets to the universe. Richard Ross had never been mentioned in any of them.

Looking at the clock on Mary's wall, Nadia stuffed the note into a pocket of her nightgown and ran from the room, not caring how much noise she made as she slammed the door behind her. She had no idea how much time she had, but probably not much. The last train usually left around 12:30, headed west.

That in mind, Nadia ran down the hall to John's room, banging on the door when she discovered it was locked. Of course it was locked, she thought irrelevantly. John had been locking his bedroom door for privacy since the girls were old enough not to need help in the night.

John sat up in bed, mumbling under his breath as Nadia banged on his door. He could hear her yelling.

"Dad! Wake up! Mary's in trouble!"

"Dammit." John climbed out of bed, tossing on a robe before opening the door. Nadia was standing there, looking frantic.

"Dad, Mary ran away!"

"What?" John rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up.

"Mary ran away! We met this phony director at the fair, and she thinks he's real, and she's run off with him. Look." She pulled the note from her pocket and shoved it into his hand.

John read the note quickly, his eyes widening. Of all the hare-brained schemes his elder daughter had ever come up with, this had to be the worst. What was she thinking, running off with someone she'd met at the fair?

"Shit." He rubbed his eyes, trying to think of what to do.

"We have to go find her! Maybe she's still nearby! I saw her out the window..."

"What were you doing at the window—especially dressed like that?"

Nadia looked down, realizing that she was only wearing her thin nightgown. "I heard the gate banging, and Allegro barking, so I looked out to see what was going on. Mary was running down the road, her suitcase in her hand. I looked in her room to be sure it was really her, and she was gone."

John used a few more choice expletives, describing his daughter's impulsiveness and the man she had run off with. "Do you know the man's name?"

"He said his name was Richard Ross...but it could have been an alibi. He gave Mary a business card."

"Oh, my God." John handed the note back to Nadia. "Those weren't Hollywood business cards—they were printed here. Some of them were accidentally delivered to me this morning."

"Well, let's go find her!"

"Go get dressed," John directed her. "We'll take the car."


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

_August 8, 1926_

John and Nadia arrived at the train station just as the last train was pulling away. Nadia leaped out of the car, looking around frantically in hopes that Mary wasn't on it.

There was no sign of Mary at the train station. A few people who had come in on the train milled around, but most were hurrying away to whatever destination they had in mind, not eager to spend the night in the station.

Nadia was ready to run down the tracks after the departing train, but John's hand on her arm kept her where she was. There was no use in chasing the train; it wasn't stopping, and there was no way to be sure that Mary was on it. Besides that, it was dark, and running down the tracks in the dark was dangerous. A person could easily trip and injure themselves.

"Dad...I think she must be on that train," Nadia told him, staring after it. The train gave one last whistle before disappearing into the night.

"Let's make sure," John replied, praying that she wasn't. Mary had done some half-witted things in her life, but running off with a stranger on the 12:30 express train to Los Angeles would have to be the worst yet. It was entirely possible that she had changed her mind, and was even now sneaking back home in the dark. If she had changed her mind, he'd hug her and be forever grateful that she'd finally learned some sense—and then he'd ground her until the new year.

Entering the building, he approached the ticket booth. The clerk was closing the window and pulling down the shade before counting the contents of the cash register and leaving for the night, but John walked up to the window anyway.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we're closed," the clerk began. He stopped when he saw who it was. "Mr. Calvert!"

John had taken the train many times over the past few years, going both east and west. Being a prominent businessman in Cedar Rapids, he was well-known, and had done business with this particular clerk many times.

"I just have a question to ask," John told him, seeing him glance at the clock and knowing that he wanted to get home.

The clerk suddenly looked nervous, as though he might have made an error in judgment. "What is it?"

"Did my daughter Mary get on that train that just left?"

He hesitated. "Well...yes, she did."

"Was she with a man in a three-piece suit?" Nadia interjected. "He had a derby hat, and gray-streaked brown hair. He also had a wide smile, showing too many teeth, like someone who is about to cheat you, or a dog that's about to bite you."

"Uh...yes. That would be a good description." He knew Mary Calvert, as well as her sister Nadia, because their father often took them with him on trips when they weren't in school.

"Who bought the tickets?" John demanded, looking hard at the clerk.

"Uh...um...he did, sir. Yes." He checked his records. "Two tickets for second class, purchased by John Adams at 12:15."

"John Adams!" Nadia exclaimed. "He said his name was Richard Ross."

"I thought it was kind of odd, him having the same name as a president, but lots of folks like to name their young'uns after famous people."

"Why did you let him buy a ticket for Mary? She's too young to go off on her own like that—especially in the company of a strange man." John leaned forward, glaring at him.

"Well...uh...she, uh...she said that you had approved it. She said she was going to visit her aunt in California, and the man was her chaperone."

"Her chaperone! I would never send my daughter off with someone I'd never met, especially a strange man!" John put his forehead in his hand. Of all the stupid stunts Mary had pulled, this was the most foolish. She would be lucky to get out of this with her virtue intact—if not something worse.

"Oh, my God! Mary's run off with that fake director! She's really done it!" Nadia was pacing back and forth agitatedly, wringing her hands.

"Nadia." John led her to a bench. "Sit down and take a deep breath. Don't panic. Mary knows where Hollywood is. If he tries to take her anywhere else, she'll catch on. She's impulsive, but she's not stupid. And your Aunt Rose is in Los Angeles. Mary will undoubtedly go to her once she figures out the truth." At least, he hoped so. He sincerely hoped that Mary, with her grand dreams, wouldn't be taken in by any smooth lies. All too many young girls were taken in by stories told to them by con men, but Mary had more knowledge of the moving picture industry than many, having learned about it from Rose over the years.

"Dad, we have to go find her!" Nadia jumped up and started pacing again.

"Nadia, _sit down_." Although usually quiet and level-headed, Nadia did sometimes become hysterical in the face of trouble, pacing agitatedly and talking wildly, occasionally even using the few words of Arabic she remembered. It was, he suspected, a holdover from her experience aboard the Titanic fourteen years earlier. She didn't consciously remember the event, but it was still with her.

Remnants of a long-forgotten event or not, the last thing he needed was a hysterical daughter. It would take hours to calm her down, he knew, and they didn't have any time to waste.

"Come on." He gestured to Nadia to follow him back to the car.

"_But what about Mary_?" she screeched, still sounding hysterical.

"Nadia, _calm down_. Hysteria is not going to help matters any. The next train doesn't leave until six, and it's going east. We won't be able to go after her until at least 7:30, so we need to go home and figure out what to do."

"Couldn't we just drive after her?"

John sighed, shaking his head. "There's not enough gas, and the filling station isn't open at this time of night. Besides, you know how the roads between towns are—rutted dirt roads with potholes, and pavement only in the towns. And the only direct road to California is Route 66, far to the south of here. We'll get there faster by waiting for the 7:30 train."

"But that's not an express! It stops everywhere."

"The next express isn't for two days. We may be able to get another train in another city. We're sure not waiting two days!"

"Let's go!" Nadia suddenly decided, hurrying past John and out to the car. She'd always had an underlying fear of losing someone she loved, though she wasn't sure why. Aunt Rose and Christopher had left, but it wasn't the same. They weren't gone, just in a different place. She heard from them all the time. But the prospect of her sister vanishing terrified her, bringing vague recollections to her mind of someone else she'd lost but couldn't remember.

John joined her in the car a moment later. "We'll go home first, call your Aunt Rose, and then pack some things for the trip."

"What about your meetings?" Nadia suddenly wanted to know.

"Right. Thanks for reminding me. I'll leave a message with Mrs. Wilde before we leave, telling her to arrange to have the vice presidents take over while I'm gone."

Nadia smiled. That was one of the things she loved about her dad—he was always willing to drop whatever he was doing if a family member was in trouble. Some men cared more about their business than anything else, but John, in spite of being president of Anders Cedar Rapids, still knew when other things mattered more.

XXXXX

Rose groaned as the phone rang, rousing her from sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she got out of bed and hurried down the hall to answer it.

_Who can possibly be calling at this hour?_ she wondered, seeing the clock as she went by. It was three AM. _If it's a wrong number, or a fan who's found this number, heaven help them!_

"Hello?" Rose answered the phone sullenly, wondering who could possibly want to disturb her. She saw Christopher come out of his room, dragging his feet, and waved him back. Even if the call was for him, she wasn't letting him take it at this hour.

"Rose?"

Rose's eyes widened with surprise. She hadn't expected to hear from John at this hour.

"John, what's going on?"

"Mary's run away." John sighed. "She met some man at the fair who claimed to be a director and gave her a business card. They left Cedar Rapids on the 12:30 express train for Los Angeles."

"Oh, God." Rose leaned her head against the phone.

"At least they won't be able to get off the train until it reaches Los Angeles, but after that—they could go anywhere." He paused. "Have you heard of a director named Richard Ross, by any chance?"

Rose frowned, shaking her head. "No. I've never heard of anyone by that name."

"I didn't think so. Nadia said that Mary said that he might be an artistic film director, but—"

"I doubt it. Unless he's brand new. But I've heard of about everyone in this business, even the new people. Newcomers are always eager to mingle with the ones already here. It helps them get their foot in the door."

"Have you heard of John Adams?"

"He was president back in the nineteenth century," Rose replied, puzzled. "Why?"

"That's the name he gave at the train station. I hoped it might be familiar to you."

"Nope. I've never heard of this guy."

"I didn't think you would have. He had his business cards printed up in Cedar Rapids, not Hollywood—some were accidentally delivered to me."

"Oh, God." Rose put a hand to her forehead, thinking. She knew about Mary's love of excitement and adventure, of course—the escapades had started when she had been the girls' caretaker. But this went beyond adventure into idiocy. Running off with a con man—what next? She just hoped there was a next for Mary.

"I'll be at the station when the express train comes in," she assured him. "It's during filming, but being a star means that I can shift things around a little, as long as I don't do it too often. Mary certainly comes first."

"Thank you, Rose." John sighed. "I'll hang up now, let you get back to sleep. I'm told you're rising early these days."

"Much too early," Rose agreed. "Mary will be all right, John. I can sense it. She's impulsive, but not stupid. Usually."

"Usually," John agreed. "Good night, Rose."

"Good night, John."

As she hung up the receiver, Rose turned to see Christopher standing in his doorway, watching her. He had obviously overheard everything she had said.

"Mary ran away?"

Rose sighed. "She thinks she's been discovered."

"That's stupid. Why would somebody discover her in a hick town in Iowa?"

"Christopher, Cedar Rapids is not a hick town, anymore than Los Angeles is." When Christopher looked at her skeptically, she relented, "Well, maybe a little more rural."

"Huh. Doesn't she know that girls who run away from home usually wind up...uh..."

Rose looked at her son in amusement as his face turned red. She knew exactly what he was saying.

"Not all girls who come here to be actresses wind up like that, Christopher. I didn't."

"You didn't get 'discovered'."

"No. Lucky me." She'd managed to avoid con men—possibly because her ex-fiancé had been little more than a rich con man.

"If I ran away, would you come after me?"

"Of course I would. But..." Rose leaned closer as Christopher's face took on a mischievous gleam. "...I wouldn't recommend that you try it. You're not too old for me to spank, you know."

"I'm thirteen!"

"And I'm thirty-one. I'm still your mother, no matter how grown-up you get." She ruffled his hair.

Christopher backed away, glaring at her. "Mom! Don't!" He patted his hair back down. "I'm not a little kid."

"I know. I know. Go back to bed now. I'll see you in the morning."

XXXXX

The last stop John and Nadia made before going to the train station was the home of John's secretary, Edith Wilde. The Wildes had no telephone, and there was no one at the office to take messages this early, so he had to carry his message the old-fashioned way—by hand.

Scott Wilde was none too pleased to be awakened at six o'clock by John's knock on the door. Edith was probably already up and about, taking care of her family before going to work. The house the Wildes lived in was run-down and drafty, hardly what he would expect with the amount he paid Edith, but her husband worked only under duress and habitually spent his wife's earnings on bootleg liquor.

From the looks of the man, he'd overindulged the night before. His eyes were red and he held his head as though he feared the slightest movement would cause it to fall off. He glared at John from the open doorway.

"Yeah? Who are you?" Scott paid little attention to anyone but himself.

"I'm John Calvert, Edith's boss—"

"Are you the one she's been out with all these nights? I know there's somebody."

"I wouldn't know." John had little doubt that Edith was carrying on an affair, but it wasn't with him. He had always stayed strictly away from married women, including his needy, clinging secretary. She was a good worker, and worth every cent he paid her, but whatever she wanted outside of work she had to find for herself. He'd made that clear from the first advance.

"Well, whaddaya want, then?"

John cringed at the smell of the man's breath, but gave him the folder with his instructions in it. "I'm going to be gone for a time—how long, I'm not sure. These are my instructions for the next week. If the trip lasts longer than that, I'll send the instructions. For now, give these to Edith. She'll see that everything is taken care of."

Scott stared at John rudely for a moment before slamming the door and lumbering away, hollering for his wife. John shook his head and walked back to the car. At least the company would be all right, if nothing else.

XXXXX

Just after 7:30, the next train to California left the depot, with John and Nadia on it.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

_August 11, 1926  
Los Angeles, California_

Mary followed behind Mr. Ross, carrying both her suitcase and his. When they had arrived in Los Angeles, he had gotten off the train before her, looking around the station. When he was confident that all was clear—to keep her from being sent home, he had told her—he had handed her both pieces of luggage and told her to follow him.

The train had arrived half an hour early, for which Mary was grateful. She was sure that her father had contacted Aunt Rose by now, and had half-expected her to be waiting in the station, a ticket back to Cedar Rapids in her hand. But there had been only the usual press of travelers coming and going, and people waiting to meet them or see them off.

It had seemed odd to Mary that they had to walk to Mr. Ross's studio—she had thought, from the way he talked about Hollywood and how he would make her a star, that he would have been able to afford a car to take them wherever they were going. But, she rationalized, maybe he wanted to familiarize her with the town, or maybe there was no way to leave his car at the train station while he was traveling, though there seemed to have been plenty of cars parked nearby when they had left.

_Or maybe he isn't as rich as he said_, her mind nagged her, the same worry that had been plaguing her since she had left with him. _Maybe Nadia was right, and he is a scam artist._ But she didn't want to believe it. He had taken her to Hollywood, hadn't he? She recognized it from pictures she had seen, and from the trip she had taken to California nine years earlier with Nadia and Grandma. Maybe he hadn't had a chance to make a lot of money yet. After all, a person had to start somewhere. Aunt Rose hadn't been rich and famous at first, either.

_But what about Mabel Love?_ she thought. _Didn't he discover her?_ She didn't want to admit that, despite wracking her brain, she still had no idea who Mabel Love was. But, she thought, maybe he had discovered Mabel, and then she had left to work with someone who would make her rise more quickly. Or maybe she wasn't as great an actress as he had said, which was why Mary had never heard of her. Perhaps he was just getting started in the moving picture industry. After all, it could take a while to catch people's attention, and the movie magazines usually paid the most attention to big stars and famous directors. Couldn't that be it?

Mary looked around as she followed him, liking the neighborhood less and less. She supposed that it could add atmosphere to a picture, but it looked like a slum—maybe not as rundown as the neighborhood her family had first lived in when they arrived in America, but still not a nice place.

"Here we are." Mr. Ross stopped outside a rickety-looking warehouse. Pulling a key from his pocket, he opened the door, cursing at the rusty lock. When he finally had the door open, he went inside, Mary following him.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness inside. Mr. Ross turned on a light, but it wasn't nearly as bright as the summer sun outside. Looking around, Mary set the suitcases down, sighing inwardly with relief when she saw the cameras set up at various points around the building, which had been divided into sets. There were sets of various scenes, from an outdoor western scene to a cozy-looking bedroom.

Mary smiled to herself. She had been right all along. Mr. Ross really was a director. Why else would he have this building with movie sets in it? _Nadia doesn't know anything,_ she thought, gloating at the idea that she had been right. She _had_ been discovered, and soon she would be a star.

"Where is everyone else?" she asked, as Ross walked back to her, taking the suitcases and setting them behind a large desk.

"What?" He seemed a little surprised at the question.. "Oh...what we're going to do first doesn't require any help. I need to take publicity shots of you—for posters and the newspaper and such. In fact..." He gestured to a tall cabinet. "You can look in there for something a little more...glamorous...to wear for these pictures. There's a dressing room next to it. See that door?"

Mary nodded, heading toward where he had pointed to. She opened the cabinet, pulling out an elegant silk dress, high heeled shoes, and cosmetics. Publicity pictures were very important, she realized.

She dressed quickly, listening as Ross moved around the building, opening and closing doors. She stepped out in time to see him fussing with the lock on the warehouse door.

"Mr. Ross?"

He turned around quickly, dropping the key. "Ah...Mary. You look lovely. Simply lovely. Just give me a moment—I was trying to fix this damnable lock." Shrugging, he picked up the key and put it in his pocket, frowning a little at her attire. The dress was modest, covering her from her collarbone to her knees, and the three-quarter length sleeves hid her arms.

Mary watched him, puzzled by his reaction. She thought that she looked very elegant. Was the dress wrong for her? Did she need to wear something else?

Ross gave her a smile. "I think we'll start with some glamour poses over here." He gestured to an almost empty area, decorated only with a chair. "Pictures that show only you, you understand."

Mary nodded, standing where he told her and posing. The poses seemed natural enough at first, but she began to grow uncomfortable at some of the ways he told her to pose, making her appear to be doing immoral things, or showing more of her body than she was comfortable with. Were these pictures really going to be used for publicity? She had seen some risqué pictures, but some of these poses went beyond even that, especially after he asked her to change into more revealing clothes.

Ross waved off her concerns, telling her that some of the publicity shots were for the movie people, who looked more closely at such things than the public did, but it still made her uncomfortable. Aunt Rose had never said anything about such pictures, or about movie people looking at different pictures from the public. She supposed that it made sense, but she wished that the pictures weren't so revealing. She was still very young; wouldn't it make more sense for her to play characters that were young and innocent, rather than worldly? Even if she did play worldly characters, did she really have to make such poses for the other movie people? She thought that Mr. Ross would be directing her.

But as nervous as she was, Mary didn't want to object. She was on the verge of having all of her dreams realized—she couldn't afford to upset the man who had discovered her. He was her ticket to stardom.

It wasn't until Ross had her dress in the sort of lingerie that had been popular twenty years earlier—and insisted upon helping her with the corset—that she began to object.

"Mr. Ross..." Mary hesitated, not wanting to offend him. "I don't feel right, dressing like this. Why do I need pictures like this?"

"Do you want to be a star or not?" he demanded, more rudely than he had ever spoken to her before.

"I...I do, but..."

"Then do what I tell you!"

Mary quieted, not responding to the reprimand. She wanted to be an actress—but this didn't seem like anything she had read about. This sort of publicity seemed more like what would suit an actress in one of the dirty pictures that some men liked to watch. This wasn't what she wanted. She wanted a career like Aunt Rose had, appearing in the moving pictures as different characters, winning fame and admiration for her talent and beauty, not for what she looked like without her clothes.

She jumped as Ross reached around her to adjust the corset. He hadn't given her a chemise to wear under it, so his tug on the tight garment pulled it far down, revealing her breasts. She pulled away from him, quickly tugging it back up.

"Mr. Ross, I really don't like this—"

"And I really don't care what you like." He grabbed the corset, pulling loose the top hooks.

Mary clutched the torn garment in front of her. "Stop!" She stepped back, staring at him. "I think Nadia was right. You're not a real director."

"Oh, I'm a real director, girlie. Maybe not the kind you wanted to discover you, but I'm the best chance you'll ever get."

"No, you're not." Mary started to walk around him. "I want to be a real actress, not a—a porn queen!"

"You don't really think you'll ever amount to anything else, do you?"

"You've never even seen me act! I'm good, I really am—and I don't want to be in dirty movies! My aunt, Rose Dawson, never had to appear in any of those movies."

"Rose Dawson isn't your aunt. You'll be laughed out of Hollywood if you go around telling people she is."

"She is my aunt, and—and she has a lot of influence! If you hurt me, she'll make sure that you never make another picture. My dad will go after you, too. He's a rich man, Mr. Ross—much richer than you'll ever be! He could put a stop to you so easily—"

"Your daddy probably watches my pictures. Once he sees you, he'll disown you, if he's really as rich and respectable as you say."

"He won't." Mary drew herself up to her full five feet, three inches of height. "Because I'm not going to be in your pictures! I'm leaving! Aunt Rose will see that I get back to Iowa safely—and next time she'll help me get into pictures. She's a real movie star."

She turned toward the dressing room, but Ross grabbed her arm, jerking her back. "You're not going anywhere. You owe me for bringing you out here." He pulled her closer, yanking at the strings that bound her corset.

Mary screamed, struggling against him. She wished that she had never left Cedar Rapids! She would be at home now, listening to the phonograph, or visiting her friends, or shopping with Nadia. Instead, she was fighting against the man that Nadia had warned her about, as he tried to take his "payment" from her. And who would believe the story of a girl who ran away from home with him? No one! Except perhaps her father and sister, and Aunt Rose, who knew about the dangers of running away to be an actress. Her reputation would be ruined, even if nothing happened.

Ross had almost wrestled her to the floor when Mary realized that she had a weapon he hadn't thought of—the very high-heeled shoes had insisted she wear. As he pushed her down on the concrete floor, she kicked out, catching him in the stomach with the sharp heel of her shoe. He let go for a moment, giving her enough time to get up.

There was no time to fetch her suitcase. Grabbing the coverlet from the bed he had wanted her to pose on, she ran, wrapping it around herself as she went. The heavy material was miserably hot, but it covered her.

Ross grabbed her again as she headed for the door, trying to rip the makeshift covering from her body. He still hadn't learned his lesson about high-heeled shoes, however, and Mary took advantage of his closeness, stomping hard on his foot just above where his shoe ended, breaking the skin and the heel from the shoe.

He howled in pain, holding his foot and extracting the broken heel from his foot. Mary ran for the door, limping as she tried to run in only one shoe.

Ross went after her again, but he was too slow. Mary pulled the door open, breaking off the rusty lock, and raced out into the sunshine. She could hear him coming after her, so she discarded the remaining shoe and hurried around a corner, darting between two buildings. She limped as she stepped in a patch of bullthorns, the sharp stickers piercing her tender feet, but she ran on, fueled by fear and desperation. She could hear Ross coming after her, but his injured foot, combined with her greater speed and agility, enabled her to get away from him.

After she had raced down another street and around another corner, Mary stopped long enough to pick the thorns from her feet and rearrange the blanket around herself. Still limping—the sharp thorns had done some damage—she hurried on, soon leaving Ross far behind.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Rose walked casually into the train station, looking around her discreetly. A few people recognized her and turned to stare, but most ignored her. She had taken pains to look as ordinary as possible, so as not to draw attention. With Mary's sense of adventure running amok, Rose did not need to be distracted by fans and autograph seekers.

She was surprised to find that the express train from Iowa to Los Angeles was already there; it was more common for trains to be late than early. With a sinking heart, she walked toward the boarding platform, keeping an eye out for Mary. She had purposely arrived fifteen minutes early to give herself a chance to look around, but the train had been half an hour early. Most of the passengers had already left, Mary and her "director" among them.

Rose looked quickly around the train station, and seeing no sign of Mary, hurried out to the street to look for her, hoping that she was still in the vicinity, but there was no sign of her. Tamping down her growing concern, Rose walked back into the station, heading for the boarding area to question the porters.

"Excuse me, sir." Rose tapped one man on the shoulder.

He turned to look at her, annoyed at being interrupted. His eyes widened at the sight of one of Hollywood's biggest stars. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Did you happen to see a young girl with bobbed red hair? She's a little shorter than me, and probably would have been accompanied by an older man with gray-streaked brown hair." When he raised an eyebrow, she explained, "Her name is Mary Calvert, and she's my niece. I'm afraid I may have missed her."

She didn't mention that the man accompanying Mary was probably a con artist, or that Mary had run away from home. She knew that Mary aspired to be a moving picture actress, and it wouldn't help her at all to have her reputation ruined before she ever got started.

The porter thought for a moment, trying to remember if he had seen anyone matching that description in the press of people coming and going. Finally, he shook his head.

"No, ma'am. I'm afraid I haven't seen either of them."

Rose bit her lip worriedly, but kept a calm front. It wouldn't do any good to panic. "Thank you, sir."

Her worry growing as time passed with no sign of her errant niece, Rose walked around the station, questioning everyone who might have seen Mary. She had no luck until she questioned a bum who had made the station his home.

"Yer Rose Dawson, ain'tcha?" he asked, staring at her. Although it was still early afternoon, his breath already smelled of cheap wine.

"Ah...yes. Yes, I am." Rose avoided the subject of who she was. "I'm looking for someone. My niece, Mary Calvert. She has bobbed red hair—"

"I seen 'er." He nodded, then belched.

Rose backed away from him, trying not to show her disgust. Then his words sunk in. "You saw her? When? Where was she going? Was she with someone?"

"Yeah, she was with some smooth-lookin' gent what let 'er do all the carryin'. She was dressed up real pretty. Had on a nice dress and high-heeled shoes. Real pretty gal."

Rose sighed with relief. At last, someone had seen Mary. "Which way did they go?" she asked, wondering if knowing their direction would even help. Los Angeles was a wide, sprawling city. She could be anywhere.

"They walked off thataway." He pointed. "'Bout an hour ago, I guess. She sure din't look happy—carryin' 'is bags and stumblin' 'long after 'im in them shoes."

Rose looked where he was pointing, realizing that they had gone in the direction of some old warehouses in a rundown area. It would be almost impossible to find her there. Her heart sank as she thought of the kind of trouble Mary could be in. A person could hide for weeks in the jumble of buildings.

But at least she had some idea of where to look, and where to send people to search. She turned to go, then realized that the bum was looking at her expectantly, hoping for some kind of reward for the information.

Rose dug into her purse quickly, pulling out a one dollar bill and handing it to him. He would undoubtedly use the money to buy more wine, but he _had_ helped her. It was only fair that she give him some kind of compensation.

"Thank you," she told him quickly, then hurried away. Glancing at the clock in the station, she knew that her director would be furious with her for ruining that day's filming. But it couldn't be helped. No matter how upset he was, finding Mary was her biggest concern at the moment.

XXXXX

Mary wandered through the narrow streets and alleyways of the warehouse district, having no idea where she was going. She had looked around her while she and Ross walked to his warehouse, but the dilapidated buildings all began to look the same after a while, and she had been more concerned with keeping up with him than in watching where they were going.

It was growing late, and the sun was beginning to sink low in the sky. It would be night soon, and she didn't know where she was, or how to get back to the main part of the city. She hadn't seen many people on the streets after she had escaped from Ross's warehouse, but it had been hot and sunny, not the sort of weather people liked to go out in. As it had grown later, however, she had seen more and more people—and some of them didn't look very friendly. She had no desire to spend the night on the streets with unfriendly strangers.

Her panic rose as the streets began to darken. She had tried to follow some of the legitimate-looking people out of the area—workers and businessmen—but had soon become more lost than ever. A few cars had gone past, the drivers staring at her in her strange attire. A couple had slowed down, but she had ducked away, afraid of them.

Now, she began to wonder if she should have tried to hitch a ride with one of them. She might have gotten back to the main part of the city that way, and from there it would have been easier to find the train station or to find out where Aunt Rose's house was located. As it was, it looked like she would be spending the night in one of the narrow alleyways between the buildings, trying to hide from whatever dangers presented themselves.

She had no clothes except for the bloomers and ripped corset Ross had given her, and the bedspread she had taken from him. Her feet were sore from the sharp bullthorns and from wandering barefoot through the streets. She couldn't go back to get her things, even if she could remember how to get back to Ross's warehouse.

At least she could get off her feet if she found a quiet corner to hide in. They became more sore with every step, and a shallow cut from a piece of broken glass left occasional spots of blood on the ground. The corset dug into her skin as she walked along, and the bedspread was heavy and much too warm in the heat of the summer evening.

Resigned to spending the night in an alley, Mary stopped where she was, looking around her for a safe place to go. She was afraid to go into any abandoned buildings, and more afraid to wander into the open land she had occasionally glimpsed at the ends of the streets, but she had to take shelter somewhere. Catching sight of a man eyeing her with interest, she quickly walked the other way, turning down a side street.

She needed a safe place to stay, but she didn't know where to go, or how to protect herself alone on the streets. Her stomach growled hungrily, and she fought back a sudden urge to cry, wishing that she had never left Cedar Rapids.

If only she had been able to find her way back into the city, she could have gone to the train station and wired her father for money for a ticket home. She didn't have a penny to her name, but perhaps she could have borrowed the money to wire him from someone. Or, she could have found her way to Aunt Rose's home, and stayed there until she could go back to Cedar Rapids. Aunt Rose would have been angry with her, and so would her father, but their anger was preferable to the terrifying feeling of being lost in a strange city. They would have been angry with her for running off, and undoubtedly would have lectured her endlessly on the dangers of running away with strange men and then punished her in some way, but they wouldn't hurt her, unlike some of the people she had seen on the streets. Their anger would have stemmed from worry and care, and they would eventually have forgiven her.

It was almost completely dark as she started down another side street, taking a deep breath to keep the fear from overwhelming her. She would find her way back tomorrow, if she had to walk all the way to the ocean and then follow the beach back to civilization. Surely someone was looking for her by now—her father, Nadia, Aunt Rose...Nadia would have had an idea of where she had gone, and she knew her sister too well to believe she had kept quiet. No, when Nadia worried about something, she gave no one peace until the problem was resolved. And Nadia would worry about her sister. She hadn't liked Mr. Ross from the start.

Mary was startled from her thoughts by the sound of a car's horn. Looking behind her, she saw the car following her, slowing and pulling over as it came closer. All thoughts of stopping fled her mind as fear filled her. Someone was following her through the dark streets.

Turning on her heel, she ran back the way she had come, knowing that it would take the driver of the car some time to turn it around in the narrow roadway. If she could disappear down another street, she might be able to get away.

The car stopped, the driver getting out and running after her.

"Mary! Mary, stop!" A woman's voice rang out.

Panicking, Mary didn't take the time to wonder how the person knew her name, or to wonder why a woman would be following her through the darkness. Putting on a fresh burst of speed, she raced up the alleyway. The bedspread dropped from her hands, but she didn't stop to pick it up.

The woman was following her, running faster than Mary could with her sore feet. Desperately, she tried to run faster, but her stalker tackled her, knocking both of them to the ground. She screamed, struggling to get away.

The woman yelped as Mary's foot found her shin, but she didn't let go. Wrapping her arms more tightly around the struggling girl, she pinned her to the ground.

"Let me go! Please!" Mary begged, hating the frightened sound of her own voice. What did the woman intend to do to her?

"Mary, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. Don't you recognize me?"

Mary stilled, the familiar voice penetrating her fear-fogged mind.

"Aunt Rose?"


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Rose sat up, still holding Mary. Now that she was safe, Mary relaxed, holding her sore feet and crying quietly. She had never been so frightened and humiliated in her life.

"Mary, what happened? What are you doing out here?"

"I don't know!" Mary wailed, crying openly now. "Mr. Ross promised to put me in movies and make me a big star. Then he took me out to one of the warehouses and started taking pictures of me. Everything seemed okay at first, but then he started taking some...risqué...pictures of me, and then he wanted to take a picture of me wearing this thing." She gestured to the torn corset. "And he wanted me to lie on this bed he had. I didn't want to, so I said so. He yanked this thing down, and then tore it when I pulled it back up. I accused him of not being a real director. He said that he was, and that all I would ever amount to was a porn queen. He wanted 'payment' for taking me to California..."

Rose had a fair idea of what kind of "payment" Ross had wanted. Helping Mary to her feet, she led her back in the direction of the car, stopping to pick up the coverlet the girl had dropped.

"Mary, did he get his 'payment'?" Rose held her breath, fearing the answer.

"No." Mary sniffed, wrapping the coverlet around herself. "He'd given me some high-heeled shoes to wear, and I kicked him in the stomach with one of them and got up. I grabbed this blanket and ran for the door. I think he'd intended to lock me in, but the lock was old and rusty, so he couldn't. And anyway, he wasn't very smart—he tried to grab me again, so I stomped on his foot. The heel broke off in his foot, and I ran out the door and got away. I couldn't keep wearing the shoes, though, so I took them off." She wiped her eyes, smiling a little. "I bet he'll limp for longer than me, even if I did step in some thorns and wander around all afternoon with no shoes on."

They had reached the car. Rose opened the passenger side door and let Mary in.

"I'll call the doctor to look at your feet when we get to the house," she promised Mary, starting the car and moving into the street. She didn't want to stay in this neighborhood at night any longer than she had to.

"No, no, no. I don't need any doctor, Aunt Rose. He'll want to know what happened, and then he'll laugh at me. I feel stupid enough already."

"I don't think he'll laugh at you, Mary. Dr. Peters is used to unusual house calls. Just last month, I had to call him to see Christopher, who, in his effort to show off for some girls, leaped a high fence and fell straight into a cactus."

Mary giggled in spite of herself. "I bet those girls were impressed then."

"I don't think 'impressed' is quite the word for it. They laughed, of course. Christopher tried to act like it didn't hurt, but when he got home he complained no end. Dr. Peters had the pleasant task of pulling cactus thorns out of his backside."

Mary giggled again, imagining Christopher's predicament then. "That's almost as bad as bruised feet."

"Worse. He could hardly sit down the next day." Rose paused, turning a corner as she headed back into the main part of the city. "Mary, he won't laugh, and he won't tell everyone about how you hurt your feet. He sees teenagers doing crazy things every day."

"Well...all right. But can I have some clothes to put on first?"

"Of course, Mary. You don't need to go around in that awful corset. I remember a time when I had to wear one. I hated them, and stopped when I got the chance."

"It digs into my skin."

"That's because you don't have a chemise. When I wore corsets, they were just so tight it was hard to breathe, and I didn't dare slouch. When we get home, I'll lend you some of my clothes. They'll be a little big, but better than that."

"Can I have something to eat, too? I haven't eaten since this morning."

"Sure. Food and clothes, coming right up. And if Christopher teases you, you have my permission to smack him."

"He doesn't...I mean, does he know anything about this?"

Rose nodded. "Your father called the night you disappeared. Nadia had informed him of where she thought you were going. I went to meet your train today, but it was early."

"I thought it was lucky that you weren't there to meet me. I figured you'd send me right back to Cedar Rapids."

"And risk having you get off the train at the first stop and come back here? No, I was planning to wait until your father and Nadia got here. They took a train the morning after you left, but it wasn't an express train, so I'm not sure when they'll get here." She slowed the car, turning into a wealthy residential area. "Why did you keep wandering around the warehouse district instead of coming back into the city?"

Mary hung her head, embarrassed. "I got lost."

Rose nodded sympathetically. "It's easy to get lost there. One of the pictures I was in was partly filmed there. Several actors—and the producer—got turned around in those streets, and other people had to go and find them."

"The _producer_ got lost? That is bad." She thought for a moment. "How did you find me?"

Rose pulled into the driveway of her home, turning off the car. Mary got out, limping up to the front door.

"I asked everyone at the depot if they'd seen you. No one had, except for a wino. He pointed out which way you'd gone—toward the warehouse district. I drove around, looking for you, for several hours. It's hard to find one girl in this city. I was lucky that I saw you when I did—otherwise, you would have spent the night on the street. That's not good, especially for someone not used to big cities."

"I used to live in New York."

"But not on the streets." Rose unlocked the front door, letting them in. "Christopher!" she called, looking for her son. Recently, Christopher had developed a bad habit of sneaking off with his friends when she was away, a trait she suspected he had inherited from both her and Jack. Of course, even though she'd tried to sneak out as a young teenager didn't mean she wanted her son to do the same thing.

"Hey, Mom..." Christopher ran into the living room, then stopped when he saw Mary. His eyes widened.

Mary looked down, noticing that the coverlet had slipped down, giving the adolescent a good view of her half-exposed body. Scowling at him, she pulled the coverlet back up. He would undoubtedly tease her about this for weeks to come.

"Boy, somebody sure did try to discover you," he commented, still staring at her.

"Shut up, you little brat." Mary gave him a fierce look, which didn't faze Christopher in the least.

Rose's words, however, did. "Christopher, that's enough. I don't want to hear about you telling your friends about this—or anybody else. Got it?" She gave him a stern look.

"Yeah, Mom. I got it," he mumbled. Then, remembering why he'd been waiting for her, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a now rather crumpled piece of paper. "You got a telegram."

Rose took the paper, reading it quickly. Turning to Mary, she told her, "You'll be able to go home soon. This is from your father. He and Nadia should be here in the morning."

Mary's face showed her dismay. She had hoped for a couple of days to regain her dignity before facing her father and sister.

"Dad is going to kill me," she mumbled. "He'll never let me out of the house again. Why did Nadia have to tell him, anyway?" She forgot that a short time before, she'd been grateful for the fact that Nadia was a worrier who had undoubtedly told their father where she had gone.

"I bet he'll let you learn from your mistakes, like Mom does," Christopher told her in a surprisingly comforting voice. Then, as if remembering that he needed to tease her, he grinned and added, "I bet you won't do that again."

Mary just gave him a withering look.

XXXXX

John and Nadia arrived late the next morning, looking tired and rumpled from the long train trip. It didn't quell their relief, however, at finding Mary safe and sound.

Nadia ran straight to her sister and hugged her. "Thank God you're okay! I was afraid you'd gotten yourself killed or something by that phony director."

"He was a real director," Mary defended, not wanting Nadia to think her a complete idiot. "He just wasn't the right kind."

"What kind was he?" John asked suspiciously. The man had used aliases and had had his business cards printed in Cedar Rapids, none of which made him look genuine.

"Well...uh...um..."

"What kind?" John asked again. Mary was an expert at talking around a subject without ever giving a direct answer.

Mary ducked her head, suddenly finding the carpet very interesting. "A dirty movies director," Mary finally mumbled, shuffling her feet.

"Dirty movies?!"

"Dad!" Nadia pleaded. "She didn't know."

Mumbling something about the stupidity of teenagers, John sat down on the couch, motioning for his daughters to sit next to him. Rose came into the room then, sitting down in an easy chair near the couch.

"Mary, what were you thinking?!" John's voice was restrained, but Mary could tell that he was very upset with her.

"I wanted to be an actress. I thought this was my big chance." Mary looked at him pleadingly. "Mr. Ross seemed sincere."

"Which is why he called himself John Adams when he bought the train tickets out of Cedar Rapids."

"John Adams?"

"You didn't know that?"

"No." She put her head in her hands. "I am so dumb!" she wailed.

"You sure are," Nadia agreed.

"Shut up!"

"You shut up!"

"That's enough!" John and Rose shouted at the girls in unison. The teenagers stopped bickering, glaring at each other.

"Dad, I wanted to be an actress. I thought I'd been discovered. He seemed so nice, at least until we got here."

"Did he hurt you?" In spite of John's anger at his daughter, he was still concerned that harm had come to her.

"No. I got away from him before he could hurt me." Quickly, she repeated the story to her father and sister, leaving out a few of the more personal parts. Somehow, it was easier to talk about such things to Aunt Rose than to her father.

"Well, at least you're all right." John sighed, hugging his daughter. "But you're still in trouble. After we get back to Cedar Rapids, you're grounded. You won't be going anywhere except school and church, unless I'm along, until Thanksgiving. And you're going to let your hair grow back out, at least until you turn eighteen."

"Dad! I won't be eighteen for a year and a half!"

"Would you like me to add more?" he asked her, looking at her seriously.

"No!" Mary told him quickly, grateful that she'd gotten off this easily. She'd expected worse.

"Mary," Rose spoke up.

Mary looked at her. "Yes?" She half-expected some punishment while she was in Los Angeles, too.

"Remember how I told you that if you want to try to be in pictures after you turn eighteen and finish high school, I would introduce you to some people?"

"Yeah." She hung her head, assuming that Aunt Rose would no longer want to help her.

"Have you learned now why you should have waited?"

"Yeah, but Mr. Ross seemed to know so much..."

"When you're eighteen, if you still want to be in pictures, I'll help you. Until then, don't go running off with some slick gentleman who claims to be able to give you everything. There's an old quote from Shakespeare that's as true now as it was three hundred years ago—'The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman.' Be careful."

"Did you ever meet any men like that?"

Rose nodded, remembering. "When I was about your age, I became engaged to a man who promised me the world. He was very wealthy, very well-respected. I thought he was the ideal gentleman—until I got to know him. Then I saw his true colors."

"Was that Christopher's father?"

Rose shook her head. "No...Christopher's father was...someone else—a better man than the one I was engaged to."

Mary and Nadia stared at her, wide-eyed. This was the sort of thing that they weren't supposed to talk about, the sort of thing that people gossiped about. "Who was Christopher's father?" they asked, both deliciously scandalized.

Rose smiled. "Mr. Dawson."

"You mean Mr. Dawson wasn't the man you were engaged to? You were engaged more than once?" Nadia asked, a bit shocked.

"I...married Mr. Dawson after the end of the first engagement," Rose told them, remembering how she had taken off her engagement ring when Jack had drawn her—and then never put it on again. She glanced at John, who was listening to her explanation with a half smile. He knew more than the girls did about what had really happened, being old enough to remember the Titanic, but he didn't know the whole story. Rose had never told the full story to anyone.

"How romantic," Mary breathed, thinking of it. "And your husband died?"

"Yes." Rose lowered her eyes, remembering letting go of Jack's frozen hand and watching him sink into the water.

"So how come you never got married again?" Nadia wanted to know.

"I guess I just never met the right man," Rose told her, shrugging. "I've made my own life, Nadia. I don't _need_ a husband. If I meet the right man, I'll marry again, but only if I know he's the right one."

"Me, too," Mary added. "We women can take of ourselves. I'm going to be an actress—a _real_ actress—no matter what Mr. Ross thinks."

"I'm going to have a career, too," Nadia said. "I don't what yet, but I will. And I'm going to marry an educated man." Her parents would have been shocked at these ideas, but Nadia had grown up a well-to-do American, with far more opportunities than her parents had ever dreamed of.

"When will you be going back to Cedar Rapids?" Rose wanted to know.

"In two days," John told her. "I've already bought the tickets—including one for Mary. I'd hoped she'd be found."

"Well, I have to get over to the studio," Rose told them, standing. "I've already messed up one day of filming. I don't need to mess up another. The picture is almost finished, though, so it should only be a week or so more. I'll be back in the evening, so we can go somewhere—if it's all right with you." She looked at John.

"I suppose. As long as we're here, we might as well enjoy it. Mary's grounding can wait until we get home."

Mary perked up considerably at this. "Can we go to Santa Monica? That was where we went the last time we were here."

Rose nodded. "I suppose we could. It's different at night, but..."

"But I'll bet it's still fun."

"It is." Rose had gone to the pier several times over the years, sometimes alone and sometimes with Christopher, but she had always enjoyed it, always feeling close to Jack when she was there.

Glancing at the clock, she headed for the door. Halfway there, she turned back to them. "Mary, could you show your dad and Nadia to their rooms?" She raised a hand to silence John's protest. "I have plenty of room, and it's hardly a scandal to have you here with three young chaperones." She stopped, thinking. "Also, please keep an eye out for Christopher—sometimes he and his friends come here for lunch. And the housekeeper should be here in the early afternoon, so don't be concerned when she comes in. She has her own key. Help yourself to food from the kitchen—I went shopping early this morning, so there's plenty. I'll be back around 6:30." She picked up her purse and hurried away, heading for her car.

Mary looked at her father and sister, a little nervous now that Aunt Rose was no longer there to serve as a buffer between them, but they didn't seem to be too upset with her anymore.

"Uh...your rooms are up here. I picked them out for you this morning."

She headed for the stairs, limping, with the others following close behind.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

_August 14, 1926_

John, Mary, and Nadia sat on a bench in the depot, waiting for the train. A porter had already taken their bags, including Mary's new suitcase filled with new clothes to replace the ones she'd lost, to a platform to be loaded onto the train when it arrived. Each of the girls had a new bag with their few carry-on belongings, gifts from Rose, who had also taken Mary shopping for new clothes and had bought a few things for Nadia at the same time.

Rose and Christopher sat on the bench as well, waiting with them. Rose was sorry to see them go; she had enjoyed having them visit. It had been too long since she'd seen them—the last time she'd seen the girls had been in 1917, and the last time she'd seen John was in 1915. The Calverts were family to her, as much as Christopher and Ruth were.

Christopher turned to Mary and made a comment. Mary rewarded him with a scowl. She wasn't looking forward to going back to Cedar Rapids and being grounded for months. She knew that she shouldn't have run away, but she still didn't want to be punished.

Rose smiled to herself. Christopher had quickly developed a crush on Mary, something she would have rapidly put a stop to had they really been cousins. But the two adolescents were not related by blood, and she was also aware that Christopher had no chance of having the object of his affections return them. Mary considered Christopher a child, something the boy resented but could do nothing about. A few years earlier, Mary would have considered a thirteen-year-old to be very mature and grown up, but now, from her lofty sixteen-year-old point of view, a thirteen-year-old was a mere child, someone to be tolerated at best and disdained otherwise.

At that moment, Mary smirked at Christopher and made a rude remark in return, drawing a sullen look from the boy and a reprimand from her father. Nadia just watched, waiting until they were on the train to tease her sister about Christopher.

Rose caught John's eye and smiled. They had gone out on a date the evening before, allowing the teenagers to go off on their own as long as they stayed out of trouble. Both had enjoyed the evening, going out to dinner and catching up on the past few years. They had exchanged letters, but hadn't really discussed in any depth what they had been doing.

Much of Rose's life and career were known to John, as she was often featured in magazines, though less so over the past few years. Mary had more than made up for it, however, discussing her famous aunt's career with him, Nadia, and anyone else who cared to listen. Not everyone believed that she really knew Rose Dawson, or cared, but that didn't quell Mary's desire to talk about her.

Rose knew less about John's life, though she did know that he had graduated from Coe College the previous year and that he was president of Anders Cedar Rapids. They had talked for hours, filling in the gaps, and finally arrived back at Rose's home to find the three teenagers sitting and waiting for them, all whispering and eyeing them suspiciously. It was only then that Rose had noticed that it was past one AM. The time had flown by. She hadn't enjoyed a date so much in a long time.

Now, as the train pulled into the station, Rose wondered what she would do next. In a few days her picture would be finished, and she didn't yet have another lined up. She hated to admit it, but her career was beginning to fade as younger, more conventionally beautiful actresses took her place. She was still beautiful, of that there was no doubt, but at thirty-one she was no longer an innocent-looking girl, and her appearance certainly did not fit the current standards of attractiveness.

In contrast to the ideal woman, who was slender and almost flat-chested, Rose was full-figured, and had been since she was a teenager. Had she wanted to, she could have gone on a strict diet and bound her breasts to make them appear flatter, but she'd had enough of having her appearance dictated to her when she was a member of high society, and had made no effort to conform to anyone else's standards since. Changing her appearance temporarily for a film was one thing, but she wouldn't alter the way she looked in everyday life. Fashions came and went, and she only followed them if they appealed to her.

She would undoubtedly find another film before long, even if it wasn't quite the role she had in mind, but it had occurred to her that she was ready for a change. She enjoyed acting, enjoyed becoming a different person and bringing her own qualities to her characters, but she wanted to branch out, perhaps try directing or producing. Of late, she had become interested in the behind-the-scenes aspects of film, and was especially interested in the attempts to develop a way to bring sound to the moving pictures.

But she really wasn't sure quite what she wanted, and she was beginning to think that a break from the hectic world of Hollywood was what she really needed. Not too long, of course—audiences were undeniably fickle—but long enough to decide what she wanted to do. Her last two pictures had been less than satisfactory, as far as she was concerned, though she still received rave reviews. She needed a break, a chance to look things over and think them through.

Certainly, money wasn't a concern; she had made a great deal in her career, and had made wise and diverse investments, never quite trusting any one kind of investment, in spite of the emphasis that many placed on the stock market. Her mother had informed her that Cal was making millions by investing in the stock market; investing most of his profits, from what the newspaper reported, and Ruth had encouraged Rose to do the same. Rose, however, had long been of the opinion that concentrating everything in one place was unwise—things could fall through, no matter what anyone said—and continued with her wider, if less profitable, investments.

Mary's voice interrupted her thoughts. "We're going now, Aunt Rose. Now that we've visited you again, why don't you come visit us? We have a lot of space, and I bet the people in Cedar Rapids would like to meet a real movie star. That is, if you have time," Mary added, looking at her hopefully.

"I might, Mary, but I think it's really up to your dad if I come and stay with you for a while. It is his house."

"You're welcome to visit any time, 'cousin'," John told her, a sparkle in his eyes. "But Mary, even if she does come to visit, you're still grounded. A visit from a real Hollywood star would not let you off the hook."

Mary's face fell at this, but she didn't protest. "I bet people would still like to meet her, and if you and Aunt Rose went somewhere together, you could bring Nadia and me along. And Christopher, too, of course," she added, looking at him. Christopher scowled at her, not liking being an afterthought.

"We'll see, Mary. She may not have time to visit."

"Actually," Rose told them, an idea forming in her head, "I just might. My picture should be finished in a few days, and Christopher doesn't go back to school until September. I've been thinking that I need a vacation—maybe we can visit for a week or two when my film is done."

"Really?" Mary's eyes lit up. "Do you think you could?"

"I'd like that, too," Nadia added. "I bet Dad would like you to visit, too." She grinned, looking from Rose to John.

Both adults tried to pretend they hadn't heard the comment, but there was no fooling the three teenagers, who were watching them expectantly.

Rose tried to give a severe look to the adolescents, but soon smiled. "All right. I've made up my mind. I will see you in a week or so."

"Great!" Mary shouted, her enthusiasm bubbling over. Several people turned to stare at her. Blushing, she lowered her voice. "See you then, Aunt Rose."

"Good-bye, Mary." Rose gave Mary a hug, then turned to Nadia. "Keep her out of trouble, Nadia."

"I'm already grounded," Mary complained. "Now you want Nadia to watch me?"

"She already watches you," John pointed out. "So stay out of trouble."

"I do not either watch her!" Nadia protested. "I can't. She's older than me."

"Exactly!" Mary agreed.

"We'd better get on the train," John interrupted them, "before it leaves us behind." As if in agreement, the warning whistle blew.

"Have a good trip, everyone," Rose told them, walking with them to the train. She looked at John, not sure how to wish him farewell, then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, to the delight of the girls and the disgust of Christopher. "See you soon, 'cousin'."

The Calverts quickly boarded the train, the girls hurrying to a window to wave. "See you soon, Aunt Rose!"

Mary shouted to Christopher as the train began to pull away. "And stay out of cactus, Christopher!"

"Mom!" Christopher complained. "Why did you tell her about that?"

Rose just laughed as she waved after the departing train.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

_August 21, 1926_

Rose stepped into the train, looking back once at the busy station around her. Christopher was already on the train, having found a seat for them and saved it.

She sighed, clutching her purse more tightly as she made her way down the aisle to the seat where her son waited. She had finished her picture two days earlier, wrapping up several months of what she thought to be unsatisfactory work, though the director had been very pleased with her performance. But not so pleased that he offered her another role.

Rose settled into her seat beside Christopher, smiling at him for a moment before gazing out the window. A part of her wished that she had signed a contract with one of the studios, instead of moving from picture to picture as she saw fit. She would undoubtedly now have steadier work if she had, but another part of her did not regret the wide variety of pictures she had made at all. Her career as an actress was beginning to fade, there was no doubt about it, though she could probably work for many years more if she was willing to take supporting roles instead of starring ones.

She looked at the passing landscape as the train moved away from the station and headed east, her eyes sweeping over the summer-browned fields and hills. The truth was, she didn't know what she wanted. She enjoyed acting, whether in a starring role or a supporting one, but there was more to life than her career. She thought she'd done a reasonably good job raising her son—he was a good kid, except for the normal adolescent high-jinks. But none of the silly things he'd done had been particularly harmful, run-ins with cactus excepted. Rose couldn't help but smile at the thought of that incident. It had been most embarrassing for the boy, and he had not repeated it, but his mother couldn't help but see the humor in it.

What did she want to do? she wondered. She had been thinking about trying her hand at directing, but it could be hard to break into that aspect of the business, even for a movie star. Still, just because something was hard didn't mean she wouldn't try it. After all, she'd left the world she'd grown up in behind, raised a child alone, and become a well-known actress, none of which had been easy, but all of which had been worth it.

Rose settled back in her seat, watching with amusement as Christopher tried to get the attention of a girl sitting across the aisle from them, without great success. She didn't have to make any decisions right away, she thought. For the next couple of weeks, at least, they would be visiting with the Calverts in Cedar Rapids. She didn't have to make any decisions until she returned home.

XXXXX

"Aunt Rose!"

Rose looked up from where she had been gathering her belongings to see Mary and Nadia rushing toward her. It was Mary who had shouted to her.

She smiled. Mary prided herself on being grown-up, on being thought of as an adult, but her enthusiasm when greeting her aunt was unmistakable. In spite of Mary's certainty that she was an adult, the child in her still came out on occasion.

"Mary! Nadia!" Rose set her bags down and walked over to the girls, hugging them both. "I see your father let you out of the house today," she commented to Mary.

"Yeah, well..." Mary looked a little sheepish. "He's around here somewhere."

As if in response to Mary's words, John walked up, looking sternly at his daughter. "Mary, didn't I tell you to stay close?"

"Yeah, but...Dad! Aunt Rose is here!"

John shook his head. He couldn't be too upset with daughter, knowing how she idolized Rose. And certainly, running to greet a family member wasn't misbehavior.

Overlooking Mary's indiscretion, he nodded to Rose. "Welcome, 'cousin'."

"It's good to see you, John." Rose picked up her bags again and looked around for Christopher.

Christopher joined them a moment later, moping. He had finally gotten the attention of the girl on the train, only to see her leave the previous afternoon. Rose, knowing how young adolescent relationships worked, doubted that he'd mope for too long. Something else would catch his attention, and he'd forget about her.

"Hey, cactus boy," Mary greeted him, smirking.

"Don't call me cactus boy," he retorted, glaring at her.

"Mary." John spoke up. "Don't pick on him. You've done some foolish things yourself."

"Yeah," Mary mumbled, "but I've never fallen in a cactus."

"No," Nadia reminded her. "You just ran away from home."

"Girls," John warned, seeing that an argument was about to start. "That's enough. Don't make your aunt sorry that she came here."

"It's all right," Rose told him, laying a hand on his arm. "I'm glad to be here. It's been so long since I've been away from Los Angeles, and it's beautiful here."

"Right now it is," Mary told her. "But you haven't seen it in winter. Snow gets boring after Christmas."

"There was snow in New York," Rose reminded her. "You didn't mind it then."

"Not as much as here. And New York was fun. Nothing ever happens in Cedar Rapids."

Nadia opened her mouth to make a cutting comment, but John quelled her with a look. He, too, was glad to have Rose come to visit, and didn't want her to change her mind and get on the next train west.

"Why don't we go back to the house?" he suggested. "Once you get settled, we can take a tour of the town—and, yes, Mary, you can come," he added, seeing his daughter's hopeful look.

Mary grinned, picking up one of Rose's suitcases and heading toward the car. "Let's go, then! I can't wait to introduce Aunt Rose to my friends. A real movie star! They are going to be so jealous!"

John just shook his head and escorted the rest of the group to his waiting car.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

_September 5, 1926_

Rose stood on the front porch of the Calvert home, sipping a cup of coffee as she watched the sun rise in the east. Though it was only September, the early morning chill hinted at the winter weather that would soon be upon Cedar Rapids.

It reminded her of just how far she was from California. At this time in California, the early morning weather would be coolly pleasant, while the days were still scorching hot. Summer was a good month from losing its grip on Los Angeles.

She sat down in a chair, watching the light brighten. She and Christopher would be returning to California in three days, and it surprised her how reluctant she was to go. She had enjoyed this vacation from the bustle and strain of Hollywood, and even after two and a half weeks, she didn't miss the constant pressure.

Not that she was suddenly interested in settling down into an ordinary life; far from it. She knew that she would never be satisfied to settle into the life of a homemaker, spending her time keeping house instead of making her way in the world, as she had for the last ten years. No, simply settling down was not an option.

But her trip to Cedar Rapids had brought home to her something that had been on her mind for a long time—it was time for a change. Her career was slowly fading; she wouldn't be a star for much longer, and she had no desire to join the ranks of those who had been discarded by the popular mind and the popular notion of what a star should be.

It wasn't her status as a star that had kept her in Hollywood for the past decade; stardom had never meant to her what it meant to some. She loved acting, and wanted to continue with it, but she was tired of the constant pressure and the need to meet people's expectations. Even her refusal to meet expectations had become a strain in itself—people expected her to go a different way from everyone else, and were shocked when she did decide to follow the latest trends.

Rose crossed her feet, thinking. It wasn't that she was ready to retire from entertaining; in fact, she had other ideas as to what she wanted to do. But implementing those ideas would take time, and she wasn't quite sure what she wanted to do, anyway.

She could give up being an actress for a year or so, but the fickle mind of the public quickly forgot those not in the spotlight, and she needed to remain in the spotlight to make use of the ideas she had. Much as she loved acting, she wanted to try new things, directing, producing, and the like.

But something had to give. When she went back to Los Angeles, she would plunge back into the competitive world of movie acting, competing against ever more young and pretty actresses, some of whom were rising quickly in the business and weren't afraid to use whatever tricks they could think of to promote their careers, while Rose was thirty-one and picky about what actions she took for her career. She had a teenage son, and couldn't afford to do things that she didn't want him to do.

Rose got to her feet, walking to the edge of the porch as Allegro walked slowly up to her, his tail wagging. Crouching down, she scratched the dog's ears, thinking of another possible plan that she had thought of during her vacation.

Just as Mary had said, her friends had been very impressed by Rose. Movie stars rarely came to Cedar Rapids, and she was the first they had ever had a chance to meet, though all of them pored over movie magazines and discussed the latest pictures and stars. She had been inundated with requests for autographs, which she had given freely, and those who had a mind to go to Hollywood had pestered her with questions. Had a movie star simply come to their town, the teenagers would have been nervous and twittery about meeting them, but Rose's status as Mary's aunt made them more comfortable with her.

The local newspaper had run an article about her, drawing more people into town in hopes of seeing her. Rose had been a little surprised at the adulation; she didn't receive nearly so much attention in Hollywood. But movie stars were much more common in Hollywood, and her presence there didn't draw nearly so much attention. In Cedar Rapids, she was a novelty, someone that people came from all around to see.

It had occurred to Rose that she could use that adulation to her own benefit. After talking to the drama teacher at the high school, and the director of a small local theater, she had begun to consider the untapped talent available in the area. If she wanted to try directing and producing, she could do it here, away from the heavy competition in Hollywood. Of course, there were few trained actors in Cedar Rapids, besides a few very talented drama students and their teacher, but she hadn't had any training when she had begun, either, and her status as a star might well attract people if she was to try making a picture in the area.

Rose sighed, sitting back down as Allegro curled up his arthritic limbs and dozed off at her feet. She wasn't sure what to do. She had plenty of money, and her fame was an asset, but she was used to taking life as it came, and long-term planning had rarely been necessary. If she did come to Cedar Rapids to make a picture, she would have to decide what to do about her home in California, and find a place to live while she made the picture—which could take a very long time, she knew, and enroll Christopher in school here.

He would object to staying in Cedar Rapids for long, she also knew. Christopher liked California, and had whined, as only a young adolescent could, about having to spend three weeks away from home. He had wanted to stay home with his friends, or go someplace exciting, like New York or Europe, rather than visit relatives he didn't know very well in a Midwestern town.

Christopher may have complained, though his complaints had lessened when he had been allowed to explore the town on his own, and had met some kids his own age, who were impressed that his mother was a movie star, but Rose had enjoyed her vacation. Mary and Nadia were eager to show her around, and introduce her to their friends and even their teachers, and had shown her the favorite places for teenagers to gather. In spite of the fact that Rose was much older than them, she had been accepted by most, though there had been some who had resented her because she was an adult, or because they considered her home and work to be immoral.

Actresses had grown in fame and acceptance over the years, but some people still considered them to be little more than prostitutes. And indeed, some of them were, though not Rose. She had never sold herself to advance her career; she was more interested in her art—acting—than in gaining fame. Nor was she as mercenary and opportunistic as some—if she had been, she would have married Cal long ago for his money and status, or married John when he had begun to rise in the business world. She had wanted her own life, for herself, and she had gotten it.

Rose smiled, thinking of John. They had spent more time together during this vacation than they had in all the years she had been his housekeeper and Mary and Nadia's nanny. Of course, he had risen much higher in the world now, and had more leisure time. Though he still worked hard, it was a different kind of work, and he had taken her on a tour of Anders Cedar Rapids, showing her what he did and how the business and factory were run.

She had been impressed. The business was well-run and successful, and the factory did not resemble the sweatshops she was familiar with. John had long been of the opinion, enforced by Elizabeth Anders and by her daughter Miriam, who was long dead but still influenced his decisions with his memories of her, that people who were paid well and treated fairly worked harder and better than those who were oppressed and thus angry and resentful. He had raised no objections when a union was formed, and listened openly when there were complaints or problems.

He respected Rose, too, showing her what he did without assuming that a mere female couldn't understand business, unlike many men. But then, it was his mother-in-law who had made Anders the success that it was. She had built it into an empire, and he was only a part of it.

Rose stood up, nudging Allegro out of the way as she returned to the house. John would be leaving for work soon, and she had promised to take Mary and Nadia shopping for school clothes, relenting when Christopher had begged to stay behind. He hated shopping for clothes, especially with females who took their time and considered the very experience of shopping to be a pleasure.

XXXXX

Later that day, after John returned home from work, he talked Rose into going out to dinner with him. They had gone out together several times since Rose had come to visit, but it was usually with the teenagers along. Tonight, he wanted it to be just the two of them, so he had given the three adolescents money to buy their own dinner in town, much to Mary's delight, since he had almost forgotten about her grounding.

John and Rose took the car into town, leaving the kids to find their own way. Rose perched on the front seat, looking out at the passing fields and buildings, her heart light and contented. In spite of all the years she had spent in large cities, she liked Cedar Rapids' small town ambiance, the way that everyone knew everyone else. It was different from anything she had known before, and she liked it. It felt homey.

As they entered the restaurant, John and Rose were laughing, talking over the events of the day. Rose had spent the day shopping and taking lunch with the girls, while he had spent his day running Anders Cedar Rapids, a job that could be a strain at times, but was never dull.

They were still laughing when they sat down. Rose smiled at John, feeling comfortable and content in his presence, and knew that being around him would almost be enough to get her to stay in Cedar Rapids. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed being around him more than she had enjoyed the presence of any of the men in Hollywood—and she had almost become engaged to one of them. Whether it was their shared experiences, the camaraderie, or their mutual attraction to each other, she couldn't say, but it was probably a combination of all three, and more.

"It's been a long time," John suddenly commented, looking at Rose from over his menu.

"Years," Rose agreed. "Has it really been fourteen and half years since the Titanic sank?"

"It has, though it doesn't feel like it. But I guess time passes faster than we think. Here it is 1926, and the kids are almost grown."

"Or, according to what they think, they are grown, and we just want them to stay children forever."

"Wait until they get to be our age. They'll think they were so young then."

"I was only a few months older than Mary is now when I set out on my own, and I thought I knew everything. I sure had a lot to learn." Rose shook her head. "But I learned, faster than I would have guessed. Life does that to you sometimes."

"It does," he agreed. "We were both starting new lives in a new place, with young children. Or at least I had young children. You didn't have Christopher until 1913."

"And now they're all teenagers, and getting close to adulthood. Where did the time go?"

"It passed in a flurry of activity, as it always has. We've both lived a lot, and raised some good kids."

"Usually they're good, though there are times when I'd like to take them over my knee and spank them, especially Christopher and Mary."

"Nadia always has been the quiet one, though she's done her share of rebelling over the years, too."

"But they do grow up eventually, thank goodness."

"And we love them anyway, in spite of themselves."

"They do have their calm moments."

"Mostly between ten at night and seven in the morning."

Rose laughed. "But we'll get our revenge. Someday, they'll have adolescents of their own."

"And they'll sit and wonder what happened to their sweet children."

"They can still be sweet, even though they'd rather we didn't know that. It's part of the growing up process. We did it, too, though my life really was stifled, and I had to leave it behind to make my own life." Rose paused, looking at her water glass. "I've never been sorry."

"Neither have I."

Rose smiled at him, knowing what he meant. When she had abandoned her old life, she had joined his. Though they had never been more than friends, even when John had proposed to her, they had always been close.

"You're going back soon, aren't you?" John asked.

Rose nodded, sighing. "In three days. Back to Hollywood, and acting, and competing with young, pretty actresses..."

"You're still young and pretty."

"Not by Hollywood standards. By those standards, I'm getting too old for this business."

"What would you do, if you stopped making pictures?"

Rose paused, considering. "I would like to try directing and producing. I have a lot of money put away, so I think I could afford to try it. There's so much competition, though, and many people don't believe a woman is capable of making pictures, except as an actress."

"I think you could prove them wrong."

"I'm sure I'm capable, but convincing everyone else is the problem. There's so much competition in all parts of Hollywood." She smiled sheepishly. "I even considered coming out here to start my own production company. Silly of me, isn't it?"

"I don't think so. There's more talent here than you might think. It's certainly not Hollywood, or New York, but how many aspiring stars come from the Midwest? Plenty, I would bet."

"There are a few, though many never make it very far. But then, that's true of people from anywhere, and it isn't just a lack of talent. There's so much competition, so many people fighting for so little. I was lucky to get where I am."

"But you did it."

"After a lot of hard work. That's something that many would-be stars don't understand—how much work it is. The movie magazines don't talk about that, and the motion pictures make it all look so easy."

"And yet, in spite of that, you made it. You became a star. And I'm willing to bet that you'd make it as a director and a producer, too. After all, you know how the industry works."

"I do know that much," Rose agreed. "But I don't know if I want to fight with everyone else for my place. I'm tired of the constant strain. I think I'd like to try it here first, outside of the bustle and politics of Hollywood."

"So why don't you?"

"I'm not sure I'm cut out for it. What will I do if I fail?"

"Find something else, I suppose, or try again. You're not one to give up easily."

"No, I'm not." She nodded, as though coming to a decision. "I think I will come here to make my first picture. Not just because there's less competition, but because I like it here. I like the slower pace of life, and I like being around you and the girls."

John smiled, raising an eyebrow at her. "We like you being here, too."

Rose looked at her plate, fidgeting with her napkin, wondering if she had the courage to say what was in her heart. Would he laugh at her? No, she decided, he wouldn't. John was a true gentleman, and he wouldn't laugh and ridicule her if he did not return her feelings.

"I like spending time with you," she told him. "The time we've spent together has been wonderful. In all my years in Hollywood, I never met a man I got along with so well as you." She looked up, gauging his reaction.

He looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. "I like being with you, too, Rose. I didn't realize how much I'd missed you until we met again. If you come to live in Cedar Rapids...well...we'll have the chance to see more of each other."

"I'd like that. And maybe...maybe it could become something more."

"Or maybe it could be something more right from the start." John said it before he had time to consider the words.

"Do you mean...getting married?" Rose blushed when she said it. Of course he didn't mean getting married—he would want to date her first, if indeed they ever did get married.

John noticed her discomfiture, but didn't comment on it. "Well...actually...yes, I think that is what I mean."

"You think it's what you mean?"

"It is what I mean," he corrected himself, more sure of himself now. "But if you don't want to..."

"I do want to," Rose told him, surprising herself with her response. But she meant it. She'd decided not to marry until she found the right man...but he'd been there all along. Before, when he'd proposed to her, the timing hadn't been right. She had needed to go out into the world and make it on her own, and her feelings hadn't been strong enough. Nor had his, she suspected. But time and maturity had settled them both down, and they were ready for that next step, the one they began moving towards when they had met after the Carpathia docked.

They stared at each other a moment, overwhelmed by what they'd suddenly decided. But neither of them had any desire to go back on what they'd said. They'd been waiting for this moment for a long time, never consciously realizing it, but always knowing inside what they'd finally spoken aloud.

Rose broke the silence. "I love you, John," she whispered, reaching across the table to take his hand. "I have for years, since I was your employee. But I could never say it before, or acknowledge it, even to myself."

John nodded in understanding. He felt the same way himself, though he could never have said it as eloquently as Rose did. He simply returned her sentiments.

"I love you, too, Rose."


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

The newly engaged couple stepped through the front door of the Calvert home hand-in-hand. They could hear the sound of the phonograph playing and the three teenagers chattering away from the parlor.

Rose smiled at John, a little nervously, as they walked toward the parlor. Mary and Nadia would undoubtedly be thrilled at their news, but she had a feeling that Christopher would not be so happy. When Rose married John, they would be moving from Los Angeles to Cedar Rapids, a place that both Christopher and Mary deemed horribly boring. They would undoubtedly be happier if the Calverts moved to California, but John had worked too long and hard establishing Anders Cedar Rapids to simply leave it, and Rose was ready for a change.

She quelled her nervousness. Christopher would simply have to learn to accept it. He was only thirteen years old, far too young to be on his own, and he would adapt soon enough. If he didn't, he would be eighteen in less than five years, and able to do as he pleased.

They stepped into the parlor, watching the three adolescents cavort about the room. Mary was singing along with the phonograph, trying to do one of the popular dances by herself. The others watched her, Christopher smirking as she again got the steps wrong. Evidently, she had never actually seen this dance performed.

Rose just watched her for a moment. Mary danced very well for one who had never seen the dance performed. Most likely, she had learned about it from one of her magazines or the newspaper, or perhaps a moving picture, because she didn't have it exactly right. Of course, Christopher was a fine one to smirk, since the adolescent boy was all arms and legs and tripped over himself if he tried to dance.

John cleared his throat, getting the attention of the teenagers. Mary stopped dancing, blushing at being seen by her father, and stopped the phonograph. Nadia stopped talking to Christopher and turned to face the adults.

All three pairs of eyes widened at the sight of John and Rose holding hands. Christopher rolled his eyes, while Mary sighed softly, enthralled at the romantic idea of her father dating a movie star. Nadia looked at their faces, immediately suspecting that something was up.

"Christopher, Mary, Nadia...we have an announcement to make," Rose began, sitting down on the couch. John sat beside her, still holding her hand.

"Your Aunt Rose and I have decided to get married," John told them, watching the three teenagers.

Mary squealed softly, dreamy-eyed at the idea. Christopher scowled, none too pleased with the notion of suddenly gaining two sisters and a father. Nadia looked at them strangely.

"I thought people who were related weren't supposed to get married," she said, her expression showing her confusion. "Aren't you two cousins or something?"

"Well...not quite," Rose told her, suddenly realizing that they had a lot of explaining to do. Of course it wouldn't do for cousins to marry—not in Cedar Rapids, at least. But she and John were not really related by blood.

"Rose and I aren't really cousins," John explained. "But when you were very young, you needed a caretaker, and she needed a place to live. Of course, it was very unusual for someone in that neighborhood to have live-in help—it was the tenements, after all. And it certainly wasn't proper for me to have an unmarried woman living in my home, unless she was related to me. And so we became cousins, and it was only natural that she was Aunt Rose to you, because you were so young, and I became Uncle John to Christopher. We aren't really related."

"So you were living in sin?" Christopher asked, eyes wide, remembering all the times his mother had lectured him about his behavior.

"No, we weren't living in sin," Rose told him. "Maybe you're too young to remember, but I shared a room with you and the girls. John slept alone."

"All the time?" Christopher persisted, tantalized by the hint of scandal.

"All the time," Rose confirmed. At least, she had never shared his room, and he had never brought anyone home in the time that she was there. And whatever he had done outside of the apartment was his business, and not something she would have pried into unless she had felt it was a threat to the children, which she never had.

"Don't you dare say anything," Mary told him. "Dad and Aunt Rose were only thinking of us, and they didn't do anything wrong. Besides, I think it's romantic." Her eyes lit up. "Thrown together by circumstance, both widowed, and three young children to take care of. Well...two," she amended, looking at Christopher. "You didn't come along until later. And Aunt Rose always remembering her first husband, and Dad his wife, and then Aunt Rose left to be a movie star. And now, after all these years, they've met again—because I got into trouble—and they've fallen in love and are getting married." She sighed. "It would make a wonderful moving picture."

Christopher made a face. "You like some weird things, Mary. You sound like a girl."

"I am a girl, cactus boy."

"That's enough!" John interjected, not wanting the two to argue, something they did with aplomb.

Christopher scowled at Mary, but turned his attention to the couple sitting on the couch. "They'll be moving to Los Angeles, right?"

Rose sighed. This was the moment she had been dreading. "No, Christopher. You and I will be moving here."

It took a moment for her words to register. "No!" Christopher shouted, startling Allegro, who had been lying at his feet.

"But Aunt Rose, what about your career?" Mary wanted to know. "How can you be a movie star if you're here? Will you go back and forth to Hollywood?"

Rose ignored her son's protests and turned to Mary. "Mary, my career is slowly fading. I don't think I'll be a movie star for much longer. And I want to try something else. I still want to act, but I also want to direct and produce. I want to try starting my own moving picture company here, using local talent. If it doesn't work—well, I'll worry about that then."

"You want to make movies here?" Mary thought about it for a moment, her eyes lighting up. "I can help you. I'm a good actress, and I know other people who can act." She smiled widely. "I can be discovered without going to Hollywood—even though Cedar Rapids is boring. Maybe this will make it more interesting! I can't wait to tell my friends!"

"If it works out, Mary," Rose gently reminded her. "It might not."

"It will," Mary told her confidently. "Everyone will want to work for a movie star. And I bet Nadia can write some scripts for you. She gets all A's in English."

Rose laughed at Mary's enthusiasm. "We'll see. And that would be up to Nadia, if she wanted write anything."

"I could," Nadia spoke up. "But I'm not gonna be in any pictures. I don't like getting up in front of people."

"You don't have to," Rose assured her. "Whatever happens, it will be your choice whether you want to take part or not."

"Mom," Christopher complained, "I don't want to move here. It's boring."

"It's not that bad, Christopher," Nadia told him. "Especially not after school starts."

"It really has to be boring to make school fun." He made a face. "Besides, we can't move here. Mom just got cast for another picture."

"What?" Rose hadn't heard anything about that. "Christopher, what are you talking about?"

"You got a telephone call while you and Uncle John were out. Mr. Hinesdale wants you for his new moving picture, _Hamlet_. He wants you to play...uh..." Christopher screwed up his face, trying to remember the name of the character. "...Hamlet's mother," he concluded.

"Christopher, did that really happen, or are you just trying to keep us from moving?"

"It really happened," Mary told her glumly. "I overheard him on the telephone. This doesn't mean you're not going to marry Dad, does it?"

"No, I have every intention of marrying your father. I will call Mr. Hinesdale in the morning and see exactly what is going on. If he really does want me in this role, I'll take it." She looked at John. "Forgive me, but I've always wanted to do Hamlet, even though none of the words can be heard. If this works out, I'll make the picture and come back here. I need to settle things in California and sell the house anyway. We can set a date once we know what's going on."

"So you're really getting married?" Mary asked, eyes gleaming with delight.

"Yes," John confirmed. "We're really getting married."

"Oh, a wedding." Mary sighed, looking at Nadia, who, in spite of her shock over learning about the real relationship between her father and aunt, looked enthralled. "This will be so much fun. There's never been a wedding in this family before, at least not that I can remember."

She knew that she had been there when John had married Miriam, but she had been too young to remember it, and there hadn't been any weddings amongst John's family members in England in the past few years—and before that, there hadn't been the money to travel overseas. John was none too fond of sailing anyway, after his experience on the Titanic, and he wasn't eager to let his children go off on their own to a foreign country. The Anders had allowed Miriam to go to Europe on her own when she had been Mary and Nadia's age—and she had promptly gone looking for trouble. Not that John was sorry that she had, since he had treasured the months they had been together, but he knew Mary's penchant for getting into just as much trouble, and wanted to keep her closer to home until she was grown.

"You can be my bridesmaids, if you want," Rose offered, watching the two girls exchange excited looks. This was definitely something out of the ordinary!

"Oh, yes, that sounds like fun," Nadia replied, her face lighting in a smile. Then she frowned. "Aunt Rose, what will we call you after you marry Dad?"

Rose thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose you could continue to call me Aunt Rose, or maybe Mom, if you want, or Mrs. Calvert, if you want to be formal about it. I never really thought about it."

"Really? We can call you Mom?" Mary asked, a little shyly. "I'd like that."

"And Christopher," John said, "you can call me Uncle John, or Dad, or Mr. Calvert—whichever you choose."

Christopher just scowled, unhappy with the prospect of moving to Cedar Rapids and of gaining a new family. He was happy just the way things were, but he knew that if he said so, his mother would just tell him to cheer up and consider it an adventure, and remind him that in five years he could do whatever he wanted. To the thirteen-year-old, though, five years seemed like an incredibly long time.

"We'll go back to California as planned," Rose decided, "and figure out from there what we're going to do. If we're lucky, we can have a June wedding." She glanced at John, gauging his reaction.

He nodded. "A June wedding sounds good. It's traditional, at least, even if it does leave a lot for you to do, selling your house and maybe making another picture. I may be able to help you find a buyer, if you need," he added.

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind." Rose glanced up as the clock chimed eleven. "It's getting late, so I think it's time you three were in bed," she told the adolescents.

"You're acting like a mother already," Nadia grumbled, getting up and heading for the door.

"She is a mother," Christopher reminded her, annoyed at being told to go to bed. Why did they need to go to sleep so early? It was a summer night, and they could sleep until noon if they wanted.

Mary just grinned knowingly at the two adults, hurrying out of the room and closing the door, hurrying the others up the stairs and away to give the couple some privacy. "They want to be alone," she told the others, loud enough to be heard through the door.

John and Rose and looked at each other, then began to laugh. Sometimes unexpected decisions were the best ones.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

_June 1, 1927_

"I still can't believe you and Dad are getting married!" Mary exclaimed, jumping out of the car as soon as Rose pulled it to a stop.

"Now we're going to have a mother, too," Nadia added, getting out of the car at a more sedate pace. The three of them walked toward the formal wear shop.

"I'm looking forward to it, too," Rose said with a laugh. "After all, I'm the one who's getting married."

"So you finally found Mr. Right in Dad?" Nadia questioned, a bit worried. She loved her Aunt Rose, but she half-feared that one day Rose would get tired of Cedar Rapids and go back to California, as Mary planned to do.

"Of course, Nadia. I would never have agreed to marry him otherwise."

"But a lot of movie people get married and then get divorced. People don't think well of that around here."

Rose hesitated, thinking. "We can't predict what the future will hold, Nadia," she said slowly, "but I'll tell you this much—I love your father, and I have every intention of spending the rest of my life with him."

"Besides, Nadia," Mary interjected. "Aunt Rose waited years to get married again, and she's too old to just leave and look for someone else."

"Old? I beg your pardon, Mary. I'm only thirty-two."

Mary stared at her. At seventeen, thirty-two seemed far off to her. "Well, you're not going to leave Dad, are you?"

Rose couldn't believe she was hearing this out of her soon-to-be stepdaughters. "Not if I have anything to say about it. I'm not letting go of him easily."

Nadia nodded, satisfied by Rose's vehemence. Mary hurried ahead of them, stopping in front of the store.

"Come on! The wedding is only two weeks away! We don't have time to waste!"

Rose laughed, following her. In the months since she had returned to California, she had filmed her last movie there—and her best in a long time, she thought, sold her house to a well-to-do man who had made his fortune in oil, and finally convinced her son that Cedar Rapids could be just as good a place to live as Los Angeles, though he had still stared longingly out the window until the city was out of sight. They had arrived in Cedar Rapids on May fifteenth, one month to the day she and John had chosen for their wedding, and moved into a hotel room for the duration for propriety's sake.

Her belongings had taken several freight cars to ship, costing an exorbitant amount, but John had surprised her by paying her moving fees. Not that she couldn't have afforded it, but she still thought it was good of him to do so. Most of her belongings had been moved into his house, crowding several of the rooms. Rose hadn't realized how many things she had acquired over the years.

Christopher had been allowed to select his own room, much to his delight. There were several spare rooms in the Calvert home, since John had no live-in help anymore and the three residents didn't need much space. He had initially chosen a room right next to Mary's, but that had lasted only until he had found a hole in the wall and looked into her room. Mary, offended by this, had sneaked up on the hole, and when he had peeked through again, had jabbed him in the eye with her finger. John and Rose had had to separate the embattled teenagers. Christopher had wound up with a room far from Mary's, and Mary had hung a picture over the hole in her wall to keep anyone else from looking into her room.

Rose, of course, had moved herself into John's room, though she wouldn't actually be staying there until after the wedding. She kept only what she needed in her hotel room, knowing that the wedding wasn't far off and not wanting to deal with moving in when she should be enjoying the first days of her married life.

Mary and Nadia headed for the racks of wedding attire in delight. Although both owned several formal dresses, as befitted their station as the daughters of one of the wealthiest men in Cedar Rapids, they had never purchased anything for a wedding. Rose followed them more slowly, her eyes taking in the wedding gowns.

Technically, it would be inappropriate for her to wear white, since she claimed to be a widow, but she had never really been married before, and the elegant white dresses appealed to her. She had had a very elaborate gown, custom-made for her, when she had been engaged to Cal, but she hadn't really had a choice in the matter. This time, she was choosing her own dress, appropriate or not.

Mary and Nadia looked at her expectantly. They were going to be her bridesmaids, the first time either had participated in a wedding. They had been to a few weddings in Cedar Rapids, especially in recent years as their friends had grown up, but neither had been a part of the wedding party before. Nadia's parents had been married a good year before she was born, and Mary, while she had been present at John and Miriam's wedding, had been too young to take part.

Christopher was going to be the ring-bearer, a role he had disdained as just for little boys. He had complained about the prospect of wearing short pants and looking childish, until his mother had stopped his whining by agreeing to let him wear the tuxedo she had bought for him in California so that he could participate in some of the formal parties Rose went to.

Christopher had finally stopped sulking when John had taken him under his wing, letting the boy help with the wedding plans. He had brightened considerably after that, no longer feeling left out by the adult members of the family. It was John who, being more familiar with Cedar Rapids, had arranged for the church, minister, and flowers, and had invited half of the guests, including Elizabeth Anders. Rose had invited a number of friends from California, as well as her mother, and the three teenagers had each been allowed to invite a few friends, as long as they behaved themselves.

Word had spread quickly that John Calvert, president of Anders Cedar Rapids, was marrying the movie star who had been his guest the previous summer, thanks in a large part to Mary, who was very proud of that fact and told anyone who would listen. More than a few people had been scandalized by the prospect—many considered movie stars to be immoral, and the fact that John was marrying one of them, rather than a good local woman, or even an upper class woman from elsewhere, had caused tongues to wag. But John had ignored the hint of scandal, confident that he and his business would pull through.

And it had. Anders Cedar Rapids was too important to the local economy to be torn down by a scandal, no matter how juicy, and John was well-respected in the community, both for his business acumen and as a person, since he didn't hold himself above those who were not so wealthy, and treated people equally. This had proven upsetting to Cedar Rapids' upper crust, but John had never forgotten his humble beginnings.

"Aunt Rose?"

Rose looked up as Mary pulled a dress from the rack and showed it to her. "This would be nice."

"It would, but..." Rose took the dress, examining it critically. "I think something of a little better quality would be better. After all, bridesmaids' dresses can be worn again to some occasions, so you should get something that won't fall apart easily." She had done enough sewing to know the difference between quality and shoddy work.

Mary frowned. "Well, what do you think would look nice? It's your wedding."

Rose looked at the racks of dresses, her eye falling upon a rack of plain, white dresses that could be decorated and dyed to suit the buyer. "How about one of these? I know they look plain, but we can choose how to decorate them, and dye them." She looked at the two girls, judging what would look good on them. "I think lavender would look nice on both of you, and it would be practical for summer evening gowns later." She smiled. "I always thought, if I ever got married, my bridesmaids would wear lavender dresses."

"What about the decorations on the dresses?" Nadia asked. "What do you want on them?"

"Well, I was thinking that you two could decide that between yourselves. I trust your taste, and your judgment, so I know you won't look too gaudy." She gestured toward the shelves of lace, ribbons, and other notions. "Why don't you go over there and choose something, and I'll tell you if I like it or not. There should be time to have the dresses made to your satisfaction before the wedding. There's some picture books there, too, to show you the different styles and help you decide."

Mary nodded, pulling Nadia toward the back of the store. Rose turned her attention to the wedding gowns, determined to find just the right one.

It took her two hours to select a gown and a veil, while Mary and Nadia pored over the pictures of bridesmaid dresses and argued about what style to choose. They were done before she was, and Mary spent the rest of the time reminding the harried saleswoman that the wedding was June fifteenth, and trying to help Rose choose her wedding dress. Nadia, for her part, got bored and wandered down the street to the library.

Rose finally chose her wedding dress—a long, white gown with alternating panels of lace and rose-patterned satin. The bodice was tight, but not so tight that she would have to wear a corset with it, and the short sleeves and slightly low-cut front showed off her figure to perfection. Rose had eschewed the tanning that many other stars found attractive, so her skin was still as flawless as it had been fifteen years before.

The veil was made of several layers of white netting, trimmed with lace and going down to her feet. A few satin roses trimmed the front of the veil, and she had decided against having either a train or a veil over her face. A train seemed to be too much trouble, while the veil over her face seemed pointless.

"Oh, Aunt Rose. That's beautiful." Mary sighed, picturing her walking down the aisle in it. "Are you going to keep it after the wedding?"

"Well...probably," Rose answered, wondering why Mary had asked.

"Good. Because when I get married, I want to wear it, too."

"Well, then, in that case I'll be sure to keep it. It will be an heirloom."

"Thanks, Aunt Rose." Mary smiled. "Are we going to go get shoes now?"

"Yes, we can go get shoes now, as soon as we pull your sister away from the library."

"I'll go get her," Mary told her, darting off down the street.

Rose just laughed, remembering when she had been so young and full of energy.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

_June 15, 1927_

"Mom?" Christopher knocked on the door. "Can I talk to you a minute?"

Rose turned from the mirror, where she was putting on the finishing touches to her makeup. The wedding was only an hour away, and she and Christopher would be going to the church together.

"Sure, Christopher," she called. "Come on in."

He opened the door slowly, already dressed in his tuxedo. Rose looked at him approvingly, slightly startled at how much he resembled his father, with his blonde hair slicked back and his suit almost exactly like the one Jack had worn on the Titanic fifteen years before.

"You look pretty," he told her. Rose was dressed in her wedding gown, her red hair pulled up in a French twist with a few ringlets framing her face. She only needed to put on her veil and she would be ready.

"You look pretty nice yourself," she told him. Out of habit, she looked closer to be sure his face and ears were clean, and then tried to retie his rather skewed bow tie, succeeding only in making it worse. "Drat these things," she muttered, trying again to get her son's bow tie just right. She had never been good at such things.

"Mo-om," Christopher muttered, making a face. "Why do you always have to fuss over me?"

"Because I'm your mother. That's what mothers do."

He gave her a wry look, sighing in relief as she finally managed to tie the bow tie properly. As she turned back to the mirror to put her veil on, he spoke to her in a serious voice.

"Mom, I have a question to ask you."

Rose stopped, turning to face him. "What is it?"

"Well...okay, you're marrying Uncle John today, right?"

Rose nodded. "Yes."

"And you'll be changing your last name to Calvert, won't you?"

"That's right."

"Well, do I have to change my last name to Calvert, too?"

Rose looked at him in surprise. The idea had never occurred to her. "Well, that's up to you. You can if you want, or not, as you see fit. I think you're old enough to make that decision for yourself."

He nodded. "Um...Mom...I asked because...because I really want to keep my last name, Dawson. I mean, I never knew my father, so that's kind of all I have of him, you know?"

"It's not quite all you have of him, Christopher. You look very much like him, and act like him often, too."

"Yes, but...I'm his only child, aren't I?"

"I assume so." Rose honestly didn't know if Jack had had other children, but she doubted it. He hadn't seemed to be the sort who would have his fun with a girl and then abandon her. She doubted he would have left her had death not forced him to.

"Then I'm the only one who can pass his name on."

"And that's why you want to keep the name Dawson?"

"Sort of. But it's like...like having that name makes me closer to him. I never knew him, but I always wished I could."

"I wish you could have, too." Rose put a hand on her son's shoulder. "He was a good man, Christopher. I don't have a picture of him—there was never a chance to take any pictures, because there was no money for such things, and he died soon after we were married. But I can't forget what he looked like—you look so much like him. He was lively, and full of spirit, always trying to make the most of every day."

"Like you do."

Rose smiled. "I wasn't always this way. I learned a lot from him, about how to live each day to the fullest, about what was really important in life. And he gave me you. I've always been thankful for that."

Christopher shifted, a bit embarrassed by her words. "Thanks, Mom. Um...I was wondering...is anyone going to give you away, like Grandma or someone?"

Rose shook her head. "No. No one is giving me away. I'm not really a young girl, leaving her family and getting married."

"Someone should give you away."

Rose laughed. "I don't think anyone will."

"I could."

Rose looked at him in surprise, noticing, almost for the first time, how mature he was getting. Not terribly mature yet—he was only fourteen—but he was growing up. In a few years, he would be grown and gone. The thought gave her a pang of sadness. What had happened to her baby? Where had the years gone?

"I'd be honored," she told him, giving him a hug. "Just so you remember that I'm still your mother," she added, a teasing look in her eyes.

"Yeah, I will," he mumbled. "Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome, Christopher. I love you."

XXXXX

Half an hour later, they were at the church. Mary and Nadia had picked them up in the used car their father had bought for them the previous Christmas. Mary drove, since she now had her license, while Nadia was still learning to drive.

Mary admired Rose when she stepped out of the car. "Oh, Aunt Rose," she sighed, looking at the bride in her wedding gown and veil. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you, Mary." She looked at Mary and Nadia in their matching lavender bridesmaid dresses. They had chosen a simple ruffle at the bottom of the skirts, trimmed with plenty of white lace. The short sleeves and bodices were also trimmed with lace, though the dresses concealed more than Rose had expected—probably thanks to Nadia's input, since she wasn't as comfortable revealing her body as Mary was. Their hair hung down their backs, held in place with lavender and white bows.

"You both look very nice," she told the girls, getting smiles from both at the compliment.

The four of them walked into the church, waiting in the back until it was time for the ceremony to begin. Rose caught an occasional glimpse of John, pacing back and forth in front of the altar, as nervous as though it were his first wedding, rather than his third.

She smiled, realizing that she was not at all nervous. Maybe it was because she was used to being in front of crowds of people, but then, John was, too, as he frequently had to speak at meetings. Maybe it was because she was secure in her decision to marry him, and after all this time, any worries she might have had were gone.

John caught a glimpse of Rose, watching him from the back of the church, and stopped pacing, smiling back at her. Weddings had never been one of his favorite activities—the crowds of people at such a special moment made him nervous. But he had never denied his brides the privilege of planning a wedding and carrying it out, no matter how sparse the early weddings had been. This one was much more elaborate, as he and Rose were both older and had far more money than when he had married Jane, and later, Miriam.

He was almost startled when the music started, seeing the guests turn to look at the bridesmaids starting down the aisle. He watched his two daughters in their lavender gowns, each carrying a small bouquet and walking beside each other.

As the girls reached the halfway point in the aisle, the music changed, announcing the entrance of the bride. He looked toward the back of the church, his nervousness vanishing, as he watched Rose walk slowly down the aisle on the arm of her son. She was smiling, her happiness evident in her face. He smiled back, waiting as she made her way to the altar.

Mary and Nadia stepped to the side, watching as Rose stepped up to the front of the church, coming to stand beside their father. Christopher stepped to the other side, listening as the minister gave a short sermon, and then began the vows that would bind the couple together.

Rose hardly heard the sermon, so intent was she on John's face. After so many years, she had finally found a man who loved her, and that she loved in return, the man whom she would spend her life with. As they repeated their vows, they had eyes only for each other, drawing a few sighs from the bridesmaids and from some of the ladies in the church.

When the time came to exchange the rings, Christopher pulled them from his jacket pocket, handing them to the couple. As he handed Rose the ring she would place on John's finger, he smiled, signaling that he had finally accepted his mother's marriage.

Rose nodded back, briefly, her own smile letting her son know how proud she was of him to have accepted her marriage, so much so that he had given them the rings with a smile, and had escorted her up the aisle to her new husband.

As the minister pronounced them husband and wife, and John and Rose leaned forward for their first kiss as a married couple, Rose was smiling, knowing that this was one of the best choices she had made in her life.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

_June 15, 1927_

Rose leaned against John, their arms wrapped around each other, as the horse-drawn carriage took them toward the hotel where they would spend the night before setting out for their honeymoon. They had allowed their kids to stay at home alone, under the stipulation that there be no parties, no alcohol, and no members of the opposite sex visiting without the supervision of either their fellow siblings or the housekeeper. The three adolescents had grumbled, mostly about not being allowed to hold parties without supervision, but had agreed to stay out of trouble in exchange for having the house to themselves.

Rose smiled at her new husband as he leaned forward to kiss her once more. Since the moment they'd kissed during the wedding ceremony, they had hardly been able to keep away from each other. The guests had been amused by the way that they stopped every few minutes for another kiss, Mary had sighed over the romance of it all, and Christopher had made faces, exchanging his earlier maturity for the embarrassment of a teenager. He had offered to kiss Mary when she sighed over how romantic it was, to which she had responded by patting him on the head and telling him he was too young for her. At fourteen, Christopher was still shorter than Mary, and her response did nothing for his ego.

Both John and Rose had been startled at how many people had come to the wedding and reception. There had been some two hundred guests—fewer than had been invited when Rose had been engaged to Cal, but far more than she had ever expected to be at her wedding. John had been no less stunned. He had been married twice before, and both weddings had been small compared to this—just family members and a few friends when he had married Jane, and even fewer when he had married Miriam. But then, the social status of himself and his new bride was much different from what it had been then.

Not surprisingly, all of Cedar Rapids' upper crust had been there, in spite of the scandal of John's marrying an actress. Cedar Rapids was too small a town, and John too important, for them to snub. And when it had been known that members of high society from other cities would be there, it had been too much of a social coup for them to pass up. The presence of Elizabeth Anders, from New York, had been remarked upon, as had the presence of Ruth DeWitt Bukater, in spite of the fact that she was no longer really a member of high society. Ruth had never forgotten her high society manners, and no one there could tell just from looking at her that she hadn't truly been a member of high society in more than fifteen years.

Of course, it hadn't been a social climbing event, at least not for the guests of honor. John had no intention of becoming one of the staid, self-satisfied members of the upper class, and had invited friends from all over town, as well as from New York, to the wedding. Rose, too, had invited her friends from California, paying no attention to the fact that some people in Cedar Rapids were shocked and scandalized by the sudden appearance of so many Hollywood people in their little city. Not surprisingly, the event had provided plenty of gossip, and had been written about in all of the local papers. Such weddings didn't happen every day.

Rose sighed contentedly, leaning her back against the seat as the carriage rumbled along. They could have taken a car, but they had decided to ride in a carriage from the church to the reception, and from the reception to the hotel, just because it was fun and romantic. They had not aimed to satisfy anyone but themselves, in spite of what society might dictate. But then, if they had aimed to satisfy the more critical townspeople, they would never have come together in the first place. Hollywood movie stars didn't marry Midwestern business executives. It just wasn't done. But it hadn't stopped them.

There had been a time, not long before, when Rose had wondered if she would ever marry. Most women her age had long since married and started families. A part of her had wanted that for herself, but she had had no intention of marrying simply for stability and to bear children. She had seen enough of unhappy marriages, and had come close enough to an unhappy marriage herself, to shy away from anything that didn't feel right. She was an independent woman, with a successful career of her own, so she had no need of a husband to support her financially. And she had a child, even if he had been conceived out of wedlock. Only she, John, and Ruth knew the truth about Christopher's birth, and none would ever speak of it. As far as anyone else was concerned, she and Christopher's father had been married for a very short time before her husband had died in a tragic accident. No one needed to know the truth.

Rose had always thought that if she did marry, it would be a small, private ceremony with just a few friends and family members present, rather than the huge wedding she and John had been a part of. But this time, it had seemed right. In stark contrast to the high society wedding she would have had with Cal, this wedding had included people from all walks of life, reflecting the backgrounds of the bride and groom. Had it been any other man that she had married, she would have felt uncomfortable with the fuss, but with John, it had felt right. In truth, though, she didn't think she would have been happy marrying another man, no matter what kind of wedding it was. The right man had been there all along, but it had taken them both years to see that.

John looked at Rose as she leaned against him, snuggling close. It was hard for him to believe that he was married again, after all these years. Mary and Nadia had occasionally tried to play matchmaker, but none of the relationships had quite worked out. He had begun to assume that, after Miriam, there weren't any other women in the world that he would want to be his wife. He had asked Rose to marry him long ago, when the children were young, but the time hadn't been right for either of them, not really. Had they married then, it would have been out of duty, and for the sake of the children, not out of love for each other. There had been affection, yes, and friendship, but it wasn't strong enough to base a marriage on, not for two people from such different backgrounds and with such different dreams.

It was for the best that they had separated for eleven years. Each had had a different dream to pursue, and Rose, just as much as John, had needed to make her way in the world before settling into marriage, her dreams no less important than his, for all that society often deemed women inferior. Now that both had found what they were searching for, and had established their places in the world, they were ready for marriage and raising a family, already present with their three teenage children.

John and Rose leaned forward a little as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the hotel. John got out first, reaching out a hand to help Rose from the carriage. Rose, unaccustomed now to the long dress and layers of fabric, was grateful for his help, taking his hand gracefully and stepping down from the carriage.

John paid the driver and took their overnight bags from the top of the carriage, offering Rose his arm as they walked into the hotel. She took it, smiling up at him joyfully. This had been one of the happiest days of her life.

After they had registered and started up the stairs, Rose frowned for a moment. "Do you think the kids will be okay by themselves? I hate the thought of them being alone if anything happens."

"They're together," John reminded her. "They aren't quite alone. And the housekeeper is going to check in on them every so often. Besides, we'll only be gone for a month, not forever. And Mary is older now than you were when you set out on your own. She's grown up a lot over the past year, and so has Nadia. Christopher—well..."

"He'd better stay out of trouble!" Rose told him. "He won't like the consequences if he doesn't."

"I'm sure they'll be fine. They've all got good heads on their shoulders—"

"—even if they don't always use them," Rose finished, laughing. "Well, if they get into any trouble tonight, we're easy enough to find, and..."

"And they'll really not like the consequences if we're disturbed tonight," John said, laughing with her.

Rose smiled. "No, they won't." She paused, thinking of something. "Where are we going on our honeymoon, by the way? You said that you were arranging everything, and that I'd like it, but you didn't tell me much else."

"Well..." He smiled at her. "You mentioned once last summer that you'd always wanted to go on safari in Africa, but had never had a chance. So, I arranged for us to take a cruise to Africa, and spend some time there on safari. We'll be in the southern hemisphere, where it's almost winter, so it's a good time of year to go—not too hot, but warm enough that most things won't be hibernating."

"Really?" Rose's eyes lit up. "That's where we're going?" She threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly. "I've never been anywhere but the United States and Europe, plus some brief times in Canada and Mexico for filming."

"I knew you'd like it."

"Like it? I love it! What a great surprise. Thank you!"

John laughed at Rose's childlike enthusiasm. "Anything for you, Mrs. Calvert."

Their lips met again. After a few moments, Rose pulled away and looked at him. "I love you, John. I didn't think I'd ever marry—but I was just waiting for the right man. You were there all along, but it took me so long to realize it..."

"I love you, too, Rose. I'm almost glad that Mary ran off last summer—if she hadn't, we wouldn't be here now. Although," he added, "I hope she doesn't do anything that foolish again. Once was enough."

"More than enough," Rose agreed. "I would have preferred we got back together under more pleasant circumstances. But I guess that's what fate had to offer."

"Whatever it was, Mary's safe and sound now—and a little wiser—and we're together."

"Yes, we are. For a lifetime."

"And hopefully a long one at that."

He pulled her close, kissing her more deeply this time, as Rose reached out and turned off the lamp.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

_June 16, 1927_

The next morning, everyone turned out to see the newlyweds off. John and Rose would be taking a train to New York, where they would board the ship for Africa. All of their friends and family members, both those who were staying in Cedar Rapids and those who were going elsewhere, came to the train station to say good-bye. Many brought gifts, which the Calverts looked at with dismay, wondering what they would do with them on this trip. They were trying to travel light, as a safari was the not the place to drag large quantities of things they didn't especially need.

John's parents and siblings from London, along with his siblings' families, would be traveling with them to New York, where they would take another ship, this one bound for England. It was the first time that his brothers and sisters had been in the United States, since their fortunes had not been so good as John's. However, he had wanted them at his wedding, so he had paid their way, along with bringing his parents to America for the second time in two years. The elder Calverts, while they enjoyed visiting their son, were eager to return to England. Two of his siblings, however, a brother and a sister, had taken an immediate liking to their brother's adopted country, and wished to immigrate there themselves. John had promised help if they needed it.

To John and Rose's surprise, and to the dismay of their children, both Ruth and Elizabeth had decided to take the opportunity to stay in Cedar Rapids while the newlyweds were on their honeymoon. They would occupy the Calvert home, along with the three disappointed adolescents, who had been sure that the lack of supervision would give them the opportunity to do things they weren't normally allowed to do. Their grandmothers were more indulgent than their parents—but not by much. The two women also solved the problem of what to do with the bon voyage gifts, promising to take them back to house and find a place for them.

Ruth hugged her daughter. "Enjoy yourself, Rose. I would never have thought of Africa as a destination for a honeymoon, but you always did think for yourself."

Rose laughed. "Actually, it was John who arranged it—although I did mention that I'd always wanted to go there. Besides, I've already been to places like New York and Europe. It's time for something new."

"Well, just come back in one piece. Watch out for lions and charging elephants."

"Don't worry, Mother. I can take care of myself. I'm not going to disappear. I'm sure that would most distress my husband and children."

"Speaking of children, Rose...I hope you plan to have a few more. Now that you're married, I have three grandchildren, but I didn't get to see any of them grow up."

"Mother..." Rose blushed. "Please don't ask me about children. We haven't decided yet whether to have more..."

"It's not difficult, Rose."

Rose blushed even more, making a few people laugh knowingly. "I know that, Mother. I have a son, remember? We'll think about it."

"Don't think too long. You haven't got that many child-bearing years left." Seeing Rose's expression, she added, "Don't take offense, Rose. I'm your mother. I'm supposed to worry about you."

Rose was about to reply when the three teenagers came up to them, staring at her red face. Christopher spoke first.

"Mom...Grandma Elizabeth and Grandma Ruth aren't really staying with us, are they?"

"Well, yes, Christopher, they are."

"Why? I thought we would be allowed to have the house to ourselves."

"Uncle John and I decided that it would be better if you had some supervision, and your grandmothers want to spend more time with you. I really don't think they're going to follow you everywhere, though, or interfere with your lives. But I do expect you to obey them and respect them. You don't see each other very often, so this is a good opportunity for you to get to know each other better."

"Don't you trust us?"

"Christopher," Ruth interrupted, "when you act like this, you remind me so much of your mother at fourteen. She acted just like you do."

"I did not!"

"I don't act like Mom!"

Both Christopher and Rose stared at Ruth in indignation, neither understanding why people nearby chuckled and shook their heads at the scene. They did indeed share similar natures, both lively and eager to do as they pleased.

Mary hugged her new stepmother. "Have a good time, Mom," she told her, calling Rose 'Mom' for the first time.

Rose hugged her back, pleased at Mary's ready acceptance of her as her mother. Nadia embraced her as well, whispering, "I'm glad Dad chose you."

Rose looked at her, touched by what she had said. "Thank you, Nadia. I've been blessed, not only with a good husband, but with two wonderful daughters as well. I'm glad to be a part of your family."

The train whistle blew, indicating that it was about to leave. Rose hugged the girls and Christopher once more, then hugged her mother as well.

"Thank you for staying, Mother."

"You're welcome, Rose. I'm glad that you've found a good husband who makes you happy."

"And a rich one, too," Rose joked.

"Rose..." Ruth began. "I'm sorry for what I put you through all those years ago with Cal. I've learned a lot since then about what is really important—and it isn't money. I wouldn't care if he were a pauper, so long as he makes you happy."

"I don't care either, Mother. I never cared about the money. I chose John for himself, not for what he has. Things can be lost, but love endures."

The train whistle blasted again, and John hurried up to her, taking her hand and hurrying her toward the train. Rose smiled, hurrying along beside him. She stopped for a moment as Julie, her oldest friend from Hollywood, rushed up to her and gave her a quick hug, wishing her luck and handing her the bag she had almost forgotten in the confusion.

Rose hugged her back, then jumped on the train, which was beginning to move. From the entryway, she waved as they moved out of the station. "Good-bye, Mother! Good-bye, Elizabeth! Good-bye, Christopher, Mary, and Nadia! Stay out of trouble. Good-bye, Julie! Come to visit again soon!"

Turning, she followed John into the rail car, finding a seat beside him. With one last look out the window, she turned her attention to her new husband, her face lighting with happiness as the train pulled out of Cedar Rapids.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

As the train left Cedar Rapids behind, Rose turned to John, smiling brightly. In spite of her mother's questions and the complaining of the three teenagers, she was happy. Her life had taken some strange twists and turns, but marriage was something she had begun to believe would never happen for her. She had been unwilling to marry simply for the sake of marriage; she had a life and a career of her own. She had also had her son to consider; she never considered marriage, or even a long-term relationship, with any man who could not accept her child.

Rose had been determined to marry only for love, not for any other reason. After her disastrous engagement to Caledon Hockley, she had realized what was really important. Had Jack lived, she undoubtedly would have married him, but fate had taken her in another direction. She smiled, thinking of how her own impulsiveness had saved her from a life she couldn't stand, and how the impulsiveness of another young girl—Mary—had brought her to where she was now. For if Mary hadn't run off to Hollywood, John would never have followed her there, and he and Rose might never have been reunited. But they had been, and now they were married.

It seemed strange, the way things worked out sometimes, but she doubted that she would have been satisfied with life if it were any other way. She liked the adventure that her life was, liked not knowing from day to day what was going to happen. And she loved John, loved the two daughters he had brought to their marriage, as much as she loved her own son. They had been like daughters to her when they were small, and now they called her Mom.

If she had never met Jack, John would have been the one man to win her heart. But she had known Jack, and probably would never have known John if she hadn't. A part of her heart would always be Jack's, just as, she suspected, a part of John's heart would always belong to Miriam, who had also been lost in the sinking of the Titanic, and perhaps even to Jane, Mary's mother, though she knew that the match had not been as happy as they had hoped, and might have been very unhappy after a time, if Jane had lived.

She looked up as John put an arm around her shoulders. "What are you thinking about?" he asked, seeing her pensive expression.

She smiled up at him. "Mostly about how much I love you, and about how happy I am."

He smiled back at her. "Me, too."

Rose laughed, recognizing the traces of a British accent that he had never quite lost, even after fifteen years in America, and hoped he never would. She found it quite charming. She leaned against him, ignoring the disapproving looks of a few people on the train. Reaching for his left hand with her own, she admired the simple, elegant rings on their fingers.

"It feels different, being married," she commented, relaxing against his shoulder with a contented sigh.

"How so?"

"I don't know, really—it just does. Maybe it's because we're a family now."

"Yes," John joked, laughing. "We've been married less than twenty-four hours, and we already have three children."

"And they already have sibling rivalry."

"I think they started in on that before we were married, especially Mary and Christopher."

"Well, Mary's a little too sensitive sometimes, and Christopher...well...he's a fourteen-year-old boy. Enough said."

"Nadia has always been the calm one, but I think the three of them are quite capable of coming up with some ungodly schemes."

Rose laughed. "So was I. As I recall, at Mary's age I was carrying a baby and working for you, as unfamiliar with my new life as the rest of you were. You were foreigners and I was high society. Don't tell me you never did anything questionable."

"Who, me?" John gave her an innocent look. "Actually, looking back, I think some of the things I tried were a little shocking, though my parents could tell you just how shocking much better than I could."

"I think it comes with being young. We all have to try things out, try to find our own way, no matter how much our parents wish we wouldn't. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Mother still acts like I'm her little girl—except for the fact that I'm a mother myself. Now she wants more grandchildren, so that she can watch them grow up, since she didn't meet Mary and Nadia until recently, and didn't meet Christopher until he was twelve years old. Up until a short time before that, she'd thought that I had died in the sinking of the Titanic. I must say, I think that both Mother and I are better people now than we were when we set sail on that ship. It made both of us grow up and learn what was really important—like love and family, instead of money. Had you been wealthy back then, she would have pushed me at you if I hadn't been engaged to Cal first. But now, she's just happy that I've found someone that I can love and be happy with."

John looked at her for a moment, contemplating what she had said. "I love you, too, Rose. I have for a long time, even though I know that if we had married early on, it wouldn't have worked. We needed to go our separate ways in order to find out what we really wanted out of life. Now that we've found those things, and done the things we wanted to do, we're ready for this."

Rose nodded. "Life has never exactly been easy, but it's always been worth it. And I've been lucky—I've married a man who understands that, who doesn't mind if I continue with the life I've established, even as we change our lives to include each other and our children." She paused. "John, do you want more children?"

He looked a little surprised, having not thought that far ahead. Rose, his daughters, and Christopher had been occupying his mind of late, and the idea of more children hadn't really occurred to him.

"It could happen," Rose pointed out. "We both know already that we're capable of having them—you have Mary and I have Christopher. And while we're not as young as we once were, we're not old, either, and more children are a possibility—especially if we keep going like we did last night."

He grinned, reddening a little. "You're right about that!"

His voice was a little too loud, and Rose elbowed him in the side, reminding him that there were some things she would just as soon not tell the world about. He lowered his voice.

"Do you want more children?" he asked her.

Rose sat quietly for a moment, considering. "I think I would. It would be nice to hold a baby in my arms again, even if it would mean starting a second family. Mary, Nadia, and Christopher are getting close to grown now. But it's up to both of us. There are ways to prevent a baby from starting—I don't know if you know about them..."

"I know what they are," he told her. "Some of them, anyway."

"They're not always reliable—but they work better than leaving things to chance. It's something we need to decide, at least for now, before we go to bed tonight. It could be too late to make a decision already, but if not..."

John was silent for a moment, thinking about what she had said. She was right—another child was a possibility, no matter how careful they were. And they certainly hadn't been careful the night before! But another child, or children, would mean more rounds of diapers, terrible twos, and adolescence—but it would also bring them the joys that came with parenting, with raising children. Even when they misbehaved, he still loved his daughters, and things did work out eventually. The hard times passed, and the better times stayed in his memory more than the worse.

"Well?" Rose asked. "What do you think we should do? I would like to try to have another baby, but it takes both of us."

John looked at her, still unsure of whether he wanted more children, but willing to try if it was what Rose wanted.

"I think that we could try. If it works, we'll start a second family. If not...well...it won't be for lack of trying."

Rose grinned at him. "Trying is the easy part. I think we discovered that last night." She laughed at his red face, unable to believe that a man forty years old could still blush at such things. "Thank you, John. I'm one of the luckiest women alive, married to you. How many women have been so fortunate, to find a man who listens to them and lets them help make the decisions?"

"To quote Nadia, 'Not enough'. She's very much interested in women's rights, you know. I'm glad you think so highly of me."

"Well, you've earned my praise and respect. I don't give those out to just anyone. I only give such things to those who deserve them." Her eyes softened as she leaned against him again. "I love you, John."

"And I love you, Rose Calvert."

Rose smiled up at him, feeling utterly content.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

_June 18, 1927  
New York City_

After getting off the train in New York, John and Rose accompanied John's relatives to the ship that would take them back to England.

May, John's mother, fussed over him, sorry to be leaving her son again.

"John, we see you too seldom. This is only the fourth time we've seen you since you first went to America. You must visit London sometime soon."

John's father, George, agreed. Clapping him on the shoulder, he told him, "We've made the last two trips to see you here in America. You haven't been to London since the war. It's high time you visited us."

John sighed. "I will, Father. One of these days."

"Make it soon. Your mother and I aren't as young as we used to be. Now, you have a good honeymoon with your bride. Congratulations, son. Your mother and I always wondered if you were ever going to get married again. I just hope she lives longer than your first two wives."

John grimaced, looking at Rose apologetically. He had a great deal of love and respect for his father, but he knew that the older man lacked tact, something that had proven embarrassing more than once, and one of the reasons why he had rarely made an effort to see his parents.

May salvaged the situation. Tugging on her husband's arm, she told him, "George, you've embarrassed him enough. We need to board the ship before it leaves without us." After forty-two years of marriage, she was familiar with his shortcomings, and knew how to handle them.

After George and May had boarded the ship, John stood talking to his brother, James, and his sister, Lauren Jones. As they had discussed before, James wanted to immigrate with his family to the United States, and Lauren also wanted to immigrate, but her husband, Bernard, wasn't so sure that he wanted to leave England permanently.

"James, when you're ready to come to America, write to me and tell me. I'll do whatever I can to help, and you'll have a job waiting for you at Anders Cedar Rapids if you want it."

"Thanks, John. I do appreciate it. I don't know how long it will be before we're ready to come here—Amanda thinks she might be expecting another baby, and I don't want to make the trip with her in a delicate condition. But after that, when the baby is old enough to travel, we can probably come here. I'll let you know what our plans are."

"I'll be coming here, too, if I have my way about it," Lauren added. "I know that Bernard is reluctant to leave England, but if I push him enough, he'll probably give in. He has an established job in London, though, so he really doesn't want to leave it. Still, America is supposed to be the land of opportunity. He could probably do better here than back in London."

"Well, tell him that if he wants it, there will also be a job waiting for him here in Cedar Rapids. And he will have a chance to move up in the company, if he can prove himself."

Lauren hugged him. "Thank you, John. I'll be sure to tell him. Now, when are you going to come to England to see us? Don't wait for the next war to make a trip over there. God only knows what will happen before then. Until I came to your wedding, I hadn't seen you since you were injured in the Great War and stayed in England for a few weeks. I'd rather see you under better circumstances."

"She's right, John. You need to visit soon. Even if all of us wind up coming to America, Father and Mother won't. They don't want to leave London, and it's unfair to ask them to travel back and forth across the ocean so often. You know that Mother suffers from seasickness."

"I know." John sighed. "There just never seems to be time."

"You found time to get married and go on your honeymoon. Just take a month or so off. You're the company president; you should be able to. Bring Rose and the children. I bet they'd enjoy it, especially Mary."

The brothers shook hands as the whistle sounded, letting everyone know that the ship was about to leave. John laughed, a little ruefully.

"All right. You've convinced me. I'll come to visit sometime in the next couple of years, and maybe sooner, if a faster way to cross the ocean is found."

XXXXX

As the ship prepared to leave, John and Rose found a place to stand on the pier where they could see the people waving from the railing. They had to catch a cab to their own ship soon, but they could still take a few minutes to wave good-bye to John's relatives.

Just before the ship pulled away, the Calverts and Joneses crowded their way to the railing, taking up a considerable amount of space. Catching sight of John and Rose in the crowd, the waved wildly to them, shouting good-bye.

John and Rose returned their waves, shouting bon voyage as they did so, although they couldn't be heard over the noise of the crowd. Nevertheless, they held their place, waving good-bye until the ship began to sail away.

When they returned to the street, John hailed a cab, having the driver tie their luggage to the back of the vehicle. Settling into the back seat with Rose, John leaned forward to tell the driver where to take them to.

"Pier 43, please."

The driver nodded, easing into traffic and moving quickly through the streets, honking and cursing at people who got in his way.

Ignoring the driver's rudeness, John turned to Rose, who was watching the city outside the window. "Are you nervous about sailing?" he asked her, watching as she adjusted her hat and turned to him.

Rose shrugged. "A little. I've always been a little nervous about sailing since the Titanic sank, but since my trip to Scotland two years ago to film a moving picture about the Titanic, I haven't been nearly so fearful. The trip there was uneventful, and making the picture helped me to come to terms with what happened. Sailing still bothers me a little, but I can tolerate it." She paused, wondering if he wasn't a little nervous about sailing himself. "What about you? Are you worried about sailing?"

"I...well...I have to admit that sailing isn't my favorite thing. I haven't been on a ship since I was sent home from the war, although I was so badly injured that I didn't really care about much. Going to Europe that time was unnerving, since there was a constant threat from enemy torpedoes. And, of course, I survived the sinking of the Titanic—not an experience I would care to repeat."

"We probably don't have much to worry about for this trip. The likelihood of there being icebergs in the South Atlantic in the summer is very slim, to say the least, and since it's peacetime, there shouldn't be any torpedoes to worry about."

John laughed, conceding her point, as the cab pulled up to the pier. Opening the door, he helped Rose out of the vehicle and went around the back to pay the driver and collect their luggage.

A few minutes later, bags in hand, they headed for the Pageant, the ship that would take them on their honeymoon.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

_June 21, 1927_

Rose turned from the porthole, where she had been standing, watching it grow light outside. John was still asleep, the blankets kicked off the bed in response to the tropical heat. She smiled, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Thus far, the journey had been uneventful. After the ship had left New York, they had sailed south, the weather growing progressively warmer as they moved closer to the equator. There had been no storms, and of course, no icebergs, something for which the Calverts were grateful. Even after fifteen years, the memory of the Titanic still haunted them.

They were traveling second class, as John had never cared for the ostentation of first class, and he knew that Rose wasn't fond of high society, either. It was more comfortable than steerage, but far more relaxed than first class.

Each day, they had eaten breakfast and lunch alone together, joining their fellow passengers only for dinner. They spent the days walking hand-in-hand around the deck, or sat together, sipping tea and talking or reading. Nights, of course, were spent alone together, in the privacy of their room. All in all, it had been a very relaxing, romantic trip, and Rose was glad that they had come.

Turning her attention to her husband, Rose walked over to the bed, shaking him gently. "John, wake up. I want to show you something."

He turned over, looking at her blearily. "Can't it wait?"

"No, you have to come right now. We've only got a few minutes." She tossed him a pair of pants and a shirt. "Come on, get dressed."

Since whatever it was that Rose wanted to show him didn't seem to be an emergency, he closed his eyes again, only to be rudely awakened as she dropped his clothes and shoes on him.

"Get up! We're going to miss it!" She was already wearing a light dress and sandals.

"All right," he grumbled, pulling himself slowly out of bed. At Rose's look, he hurried to get dressed, still yawning sleepily.

The moment he was decent, Rose took his arm and pulled him out of the room and down the hall, emerging on the almost-deserted deck. Most people were still asleep this early in the morning.

John leaned on the railing, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What was so important that you got me up so early?"

"Look out there." Rose pointed to the magnificent sunrise, glorying in its beauty.

John, still groggy, was not so impressed. "What about it?"

Rose sighed, taking his hand and leading him toward the bow. Once there, she stood behind him, encouraging him to step up onto the rail.

"Close your eyes. Trust me, I know what I'm doing here. Now, climb up on the lowest rail, right here."

John complied, humoring her, though he would have been happy to lay down right there and go back to sleep. He was snapped into alertness, however, when Rose climbed up behind him, standing two rails higher so that she could see over him.

"Open your eyes," she told him, putting her arms around him.

He did, opening his eyes to see the sunrise before them. The sea moved along under them, reflecting the beauty of early morning, making it seem as though they were the only people in the world.

"Wow," was all he could say, impressed by the view and Rose's idea for showing it to him.

"It's like flying, isn't it?" Rose asked, smiling and resting her chin on his shoulder, remembering another time, another bow, another man long ago.

But this time, instead of darkness settling over them, they were heading into the light of a new day, and of a new life.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

_July 2, 1927  
Luanda, Angola_

The ship docked in Luanda, Angola, at noon on July second. John and Rose had both been packed and ready to disembark since early morning, both eager to be on solid ground again, though neither would admit it.

It had been John who had chosen Angola for a destination, selecting it for its relatively mild winter climate, even inland in July, and the reports he had read by big game hunters about the wildlife, which both he and Rose wanted to see. Neither was interested in hunting, but there was a company that took tourists on safaris, allowing them to see the country in a safe manner.

Rose looked around in fascination as they left the ship and looked for some kind of transportation to their hotel. In spite of the poverty of the Portuguese-owned country, the city was teeming with people of all races and social classes. The docks were a cacophony of voices speaking in over a dozen different languages, with workers loading and unloading ships, while foremen snapped orders and directed the workers. Other people, some unemployed, some taking breaks, and some looking for whatever opportunities they might find, hung around watching. In addition, there were numerous tourists like them, many of whom had disembarked at the same time, from the same ship.

After several unsuccessful attempts, John and Rose finally managed to find transportation for themselves and their luggage to the hotel they would be staying in before joining the group headed out onto the savanna.

The problem came largely from their inability to speak any of the local languages. Both spoke English, and Rose spoke passable French and a little Spanish, but few people around the docks who might provide transportation spoke any of those languages. Portuguese was the official language of Angola, and Rose could understand a few words if they were spoken to her very slowly, because of the language's similarity to Spanish, but she wasn't fluent, and neither were most people in the vicinity. In spite of Portuguese being the official language, it was most commonly spoken by the well-educated—and not many well-educated people hung around the docks. French was still the most common trade language, but again, not many people near the docks spoke it with any fluency.

They were beginning to think that walking was a better idea—and many people seemed to be in agreement—but they didn't know where the hotel was located, and they were none too eager to wander around an unfamiliar city where they didn't understand the language. To be sure, that was part of the adventure of seeing new places in foreign lands, but it could also be dangerous, and they didn't want their honeymoon turning into a disaster.

Rose was consulting a map, trying to figure out which way to go, when a dark-skinned man missing several teeth approached them.

"Need ride?" he asked, in broken, heavily accented English.

Rose was relieved. At last, here was someone who spoke at least a little of their language. Still, caution came first. "Uh...maybe."

"You English?" he inquired, gesturing to both of them.

John nodded. It was close enough, and as far as he knew, there was no reason for anyone here to hold any particular grudge against the English.

"I..." He searched for the right word. "Taxi driver."

"A taxi driver?" John looked around, wondering where this taxi was supposed to be. He saw a few vehicles, though none that really resembled a taxi. Still, it was a different country, so it was altogether possible that the taxis were also different. "Where is this taxi?"

"Here." The man gestured to a rickety-looking wagon.

John and Rose looked at it in dismay. Was this the best they could do? They had expected that in Angola's capital, things would be more advanced, but then, in many ways it wasn't any worse than impoverished areas of their own country. Indeed, in many ways it resembled parts of the American cities they had lived in, and docks anywhere weren't noted for being high class.

Rose shrugged. Going on a safari wasn't likely to be a comfortable trip, and roughing it was part of the adventure, even part of the charm.

"How much?" she asked, looking at the wagon and the tired-looking animal hitched to it.

The man gave her a questioning look, not understanding her words.

"What price? How much money?" she elaborated.

He nodded, understanding this time. "Three dollars." He held up three fingers to elaborate.

John gave him a confused look, wondering why he didn't ask for the local currency, or, if he thought they were English, for pounds. On the other hand, the driver was undoubtedly just as capable of exchanging American currency for the local currency, and might find it less confusing, and the dollar was quickly becoming well-known throughout the world.

Rose thought the price was higher than it should be, but since the only alternative seemed to be walking around an unfamiliar city, she was willing to pay it—provided that the man actually took them where they were supposed to go.

She nodded to John, indicating her willingness to accept the man's offer. The driver, catching the gesture, called something to an adolescent boy nearby. The boy hurried over to them, efficiently collecting their luggage and carrying it toward the wagon. They followed, John helping Rose into the back of the wagon before climbing up himself.

The driver came up to them, checking to make sure they were securely seated in the back of the wagon. "Where you go?" he asked.

John pulled out the address of their destination and gave it to him. "This hotel."

The man looked at it, then at John, obviously not knowing how to read. John sounded out the unfamiliar words, nodding when the man corrected him on pronunciation.

The driver hurried around to the front of the wagon and climbed into the seat beside the boy, snapping the reins. The wagon lurched down the street, bouncing over potholes and pieces of trash.

The Calverts looked around as the wagon jolted along the streets, enjoying themselves in spite of the inconvenience. Rose was particularly fascinated. Over the years, she had been many interesting places, but this was the first time she had ever been to Africa. When she had been younger, and still a member of the upper class, she had wanted to travel more, and see more of the world, but her mother wouldn't hear of it. Despite the fact that there was plenty of money for traveling, people of their status did not go off to the wilds of Africa, or to China, or even to the less well known parts of Europe.

For her engagement trip, Rose had suggested that they go to Egypt, then growing very popular amongst people of their society, but both Ruth and Cal had been against it. They had changed their tune once they had learned that the Astors were in Egypt, but by that time they were on a grand tour of Europe, and it was too late to change their plans.

In retrospect, however, Rose wasn't really sorry that they had gone to Europe for that trip. It had enabled them to set sail on the Titanic, even though Cal had waited until the last minute to buy their tickets—something that wouldn't have been possible had they gone to Egypt as she had requested. Had they not sailed on the Titanic, she would never have met Jack, never have broken free from the life that was slowly suffocating her, never have given birth to Christopher, or met John.

No, she couldn't be sorry about the past, but she had spent every day of her life since the Titanic trying to make it count, and this honeymoon was no exception. She was glad to be here now, glad for the adventure, and was even more happy to be with the man she loved. Had Jack lived, she was certain they would have stayed together, but he hadn't, and she had been fortunate enough to meet another good man.

She reached for John's hand, holding tightly to the wagon with the other as it hit a particularly deep pothole. They bounced up, almost sliding from the wagon, but they were both laughing by the time they'd righted themselves.

Rose looked with fascination at the city around them. She had once seen a moving picture about Africa, but the director hadn't been very concerned with research, and the picture couldn't compare to the reality. The city was bustling, crowded in places, with people speaking and shouting amongst themselves. Street vendors displayed their wares, competing amongst themselves for the money of both locals and visitors. Buildings, some in better condition than others, lined the streets, which went off in various directions. Most of the buildings were short, few more than two or three stories.

The attire of the people in the city varied from traditional clothing and jewelry to clothes more like those worn in Europe and America—and sometimes a mixture of those styles. In spite of the poverty, the coastal city of Luanda was very much cosmopolitan, with the people reflecting the various cultures and world events that affected them.

They finally arrived at the hotel, a slightly dilapidated two-story structure on one of the broader streets of the city. John and Rose got down from the wagon, allowing the boy to retrieve their luggage and bring it into the hotel. While John paid the driver, Rose searched through her purse for some money to give to the boy. Unsure of what amount would be appropriate, she finally handed him twenty-five cents, which he placed in a small bag hanging from his waist before running back to the wagon.

Rose smiled, the boy's energy and enthusiasm reminding her of Christopher, though there was otherwise very little resemblance between them. John joined her beside their luggage, walking with her into the hotel.

After they had checked in and found their room, they relaxed, looking out the window at the street below.

"Enjoying yourself?" John asked, watching Rose's animated face and sparkling eyes.

"Oh, yes. Very much so. This is quite an adventure."

"That wagon ride was definitely an adventure," John remarked ruefully, rubbing his backside. He definitely wasn't used to bouncing wagons.

Rose just laughed and hugged him. "I'll make it better," she told him, giving him a smile and looking at him meaningfully.

He chuckled. "Thanks."

"Where do you suppose that driver learned English?" Rose asked him, looking out the window a moment longer. "It doesn't seem to be a very common language around here, except amongst tourists."

John shrugged. "Probably from tourists. If he's making his money charging outrageous prices for bumpy rides in his wagon, tourists are probably the only ones who can really afford it—and a few businessmen, who probably have their own transportation."

"Well, he was waiting at the docks, looking for people needing rides. I guess it makes sense that if you're going to provide a service, you need to be able to communicate with the people using that service, at least a little."

They stepped back from the window, letting the curtains fall over it. Rose sat down on the end of the bed, kicking off her shoes. John reached into one of his bags, suddenly remembering something.

"I have a gift for you, something that I picked up in the United States."

Rose's eyes lighted with interest. "What is it?"

"Open it and find out."

Rose pulled the wrapping paper off, opening the box to reveal a new camera and several extra rolls of film.

"Oh, this is perfect!" she exclaimed, examining the camera. Finding that there was already film in it, she gestured to John to stand by the window, quickly taking two pictures of him. Once he had returned the favor, she packed it back into the box and tucked it safely into one of her bags.

"I thought you'd like that," he told her. "You seem to have a liking for photographs."

"I like to remember everywhere I've been, and all the things I've done. I have a camera, but not as nice as this one. I'll probably use them both, with so many new things to see and remember."

She flopped down on the bed, listening to the springs squeak under her weight. "Now, you needed a little attention?" she whispered suggestively, grinning as she pulled him down on the bed beside her.

"Let's see how much noise this bed really makes," John responded, laughing, as Rose blushed a little and laughed with him.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

_July 9, 1927_

"Look at them!" Rose pointed, tugging on John's arm, as the wagon they were riding in stopped some distance from a watering hole—far enough away for safety, and to avoid scaring the wildlife, but close enough for them to see the animals gathered there to drink.

John looked where Rose was pointing, watching as several elephants moved slowly through the thickets of brush and trees, easy to see because of their size. Rose was watching with a rapt expression on her face as a mother elephant herded her calf along, standing between the young animal and the lions almost hidden by the dry grass some distance away.

In spite of the fact that it was winter, the Angolan climate was still warm and humid, and the wildlife thrived on the sprawling savannas. In the week that they had been on safari, they had seen more wildlife than they had ever seen in their far more developed home country. America had its share of wildlife, too, but much of it had been hunted to depletion in the past century, and what was left was sparse, and rarely seen around the cities that they had called home.

In contrast, Africa, part of the Old World, was still much wilder than the New World that they came from. The land and its people had resisted large-scale conquest for thousands of years; even the European colonizers had made less impact than they had hoped. In spite of conquesting armies, big game hunters, tribal wars, and the far-reaching impact of human activity, it was still largely a wild and untamed land.

They climbed down from the wagon with the other tourists, flanked by their armed tour guides, whose job was to guide them safely on their trip and protect them from dangerous animals and hostile humans. Thus far, they had met no trouble, but they could never be too careful, especially in an unfamiliar land.

Several shadows passed overhead—vultures who had spotted carrion. Rose watched them, amazed that creatures who were so ungainly on the ground could fly with such ease. John noticed her watching.

"Looks like something died," he commented, gesturing to the birds.

"They keep this land clean, I think," Rose responded, still watching them. Very few carcasses rotted on the savanna; the scavengers and predators quickly cleaned up whatever died, leaving the landscape clear.

"You'd like to fly, wouldn't you?" John asked, putting an arm around Rose.

"What?" Rose looked at him, wondering at the seemingly irrelevant question. Then, she realized that he was still watching the birds circle overhead. "Yes, I would. To get into an airplane and fly up there with the birds—and above them—would be wonderful."

"I met a man in Chicago once who ran a small flight school. Perhaps, if I could find him again, you could take flying lessons."

"What made you think of that?"

"The way you were watching those birds, like you wanted to take off and join them."

Rose gave him an ironic look. "I don't really want to eat carrion. Exotic foods are fine, but carrion…I'd have to be pretty damned hungry to go for that."

"Not eat with them, no, but fly with them—I can just picture you in an airplane, circling around."

"You know what? So can I. Find me that flight instructor, and I'll take you flying."

John smiled, then turned to the rest of the group as one of the guides gestured to them. "Come on. We're going closer to the waterhole."

They had seen dozens of different species of wildlife on their trip, a few familiar from zoos and circuses, many others unfamiliar. They were both familiar with lions, zebras, and elephants, of course—Rose had even ridden an elephant for one of her moving pictures—but many of the other animals were entirely unfamiliar, the sorts of creatures that they had never even seen in books.

The first time she had seen a hyena, Rose had been puzzled at the ungainly-looking creature, wondering how it managed to survive, until one of the guides had explained to her that the animal was perfectly suited to its niche as a carrion eater, with powerful jaws and a build that allowed it to burrow deep inside its food.

Other creatures, such as the oryx and kudu, had borne a vague resemblance to other creatures they had seen, but the unusual names marked them as belonging to this land. And the sights of some creatures, while somewhat familiar from visits to the zoo, had left them gaping—such as the towering giraffes and wallowing hippopotamuses. There had even been some animals bold enough to come into their camps—such as a curious monkey who had gone through the food when no one was looking, and, upon being discovered, had escaped with an apple and a shiny fork clutched in one fist.

They had been roughing it, and had been surrounded by people the whole time, but the Calverts had still enjoyed the trip, and were even reluctant to return to Luanda the next day, though the city was also appealing.

On their first day in Angola, after spending some time alone in their hotel room, John and Rose had gone to explore the surrounding parts of Luanda, exchanging their American money for the local currency—just because one person took dollars didn't mean others would. Rose in particular had been fascinated by her surroundings, sampling native cuisine and looking into shops with delight. She had been fascinated with the way many of the native women dressed, observing their outfits and then discovering which shops sold this clothing and jewelry, so that she could buy some for herself before they left. Local artwork had also caught her eye, and she had darted from place to place, unable to take it all in quickly enough. John had laughed, watching her—with her long red curls hanging down her back and her face lit with excitement, she had looked more like a young girl than a grown woman of thirty-two.

There had been some surprises, as well. Rose hadn't expected anyone to recognize her so far from America, so she had been amazed when two young girls had recognized her. John had noticed them pointing at her and whispering 'Rose Dawson', and had brought them to Rose's attention. One of the girls had approached her with a pencil and a tattered scrap of paper, saying some words that Rose didn't understand, but her meaning had been clear enough. Rose had given her an autograph, much to the girl's delight, still marveling that people would recognize her so far from home. She knew that she was famous, but she hadn't thought that her moving pictures would be shown there.

Rose walked beside John, arm in arm as they quietly approached the waterhole. She had enjoyed this trip, and was sorry that they had to leave so soon, but they needed to return home. They had been gone for almost a three weeks, and they couldn't expect Ruth and Elizabeth to stay with the kids indefinitely. It was time to go home. She had taken dozens of pictures, and had had many more taken of her, and of John—and she hoped they might return one day, perhaps bringing the kids. Nadia, she knew, would love the quiet beauty of the savanna, and all of them would enjoy the bustling, exotic city of Luanda.

But for the moment, she wouldn't worry about those things. She would enjoy her last day of the safari. Letting go of John's arm, she pulled out her camera and focused it toward the waterhole.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Chapter Twenty-One**

_July 27, 1927  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

John and Rose stood as the train came to a halt at the station in Cedar Rapids. Picking up the bags they had carried with them, they moved slowly into the aisle, ready to leave the train and go home.

Ruth, Elizabeth, and the three teenagers were waiting when they stepped off the train. They had been gone for longer than they had originally thought, and in spite of enjoying the vacation from their parents, Mary, Nadia, and Christopher had missed them and were eager to see them again.

Nadia ran up to them first. "Dad! Mom! You're back! Did you have a good trip?"

"It was wonderful, Nadia," Rose told her, hugging her stepdaughter.

John nodded in agreement. "Yes. We saw so many new things, and we took several rolls of pictures, which you can see after we have them developed. We also brought a few things back for you kids."

"You did?" Christopher asked curiously, wondering what they had brought him.

Mary pushed past him. "Mom, you look great!" She stared admiringly at Rose's African-style dress, purchased in Luanda the day before they set sail for home.

"Thank you, Mary. I brought one for each of you girls, too."

Ruth and Elizabeth followed their grandchildren, walking more sedately. "You look like you enjoyed yourself, Rose," Ruth told her, eyeing her exotic dress.

"Oh, I did, Mother. I did. Perhaps we'll go back one of these years, and bring you, Elizabeth, and the children. I think you might enjoy it, too."

"Well…" Ruth looked a little reluctant, so Rose changed the subject. "How were things while we gone?"

"Fine, for the most part," Elizabeth told her, glancing at John.

"For the most part?" John wondered what hadn't gone well.

"Allegro died, Mom," Christopher said, ducking his head sadly. He had quickly grown attached to the dog.

"Oh, no! How sad."

"He was pretty old," Mary consoled. "But we miss him anyway. We dug a grave for him in the backyard and buried him with his favorite bone, and Grandma and Nana Ruth came to the funeral we had for him. He was a good dog."

"Yes, he was," John told them. "When did he die?"

"Two weeks ago. And then the next night, we got a cat," Nadia replied.

"A cat?" John and Rose stared at the three teenagers, who looked a little guilty.

"Yeah," Christopher said. "She showed up at the front step in the middle of the night, all wet from the rain and meowing really loud. We let her come in, and gave her some food, even though she looked pretty fat."

"How do you know the cat is a she?" Rose wanted to know.

"A week after she came, she crawled into Mary's bed and had kittens. That's why she was so fat."

Mary shuddered. "I found them when I went to bed. The kittens were nursing under the quilt, and the mama cat was looking at me nervously. My bed was all messy, and I had to change it myself because the housekeeper wasn't there."

"Grandma told you not to let the cat sleep on your bed," Christopher pointed out, a bit smugly.

"Shut up, Christopher." Mary glared at her stepbrother. "Now the cat and her kittens are in a big box in a spare bedroom closet. Grandma and Nana Ruth let us keep them until you came home, so that you could decide what to do with them. Can we keep them?" she begged. "Please?"

"We'll see," John told them. "I want to see this cat and her kittens first."

"Well, if we can't keep the kittens forever, can we at least keep them until they're old enough to leave their mother?" Nadia pleaded. "They don't even have their eyes open yet."

"I suppose we could do that," Rose told her, glancing at John, who sighed. "We can't very well turn them out to fend for themselves right now, but if they're sick, we might have to move them out of the house."

"They're not sick," Christopher assured her. "They're all good and healthy."

"Well, we'll see when we get home. Okay?"

"Okay," Christopher agreed reluctantly. "Can we go now?"

"As soon as we get our luggage. If you'll help us get it to the car, we can be on our way sooner. It'll be good to be home again."

"But you haven't lived in the house before," Christopher told her. "Isn't it a brand new home for you?"

"I've visited enough times. It's home, Christopher." She suspected that he still held out hope that they would return to Los Angeles, but it wasn't going to happen. The sooner he realized that, the better.

He sighed, looking at his stepsisters. "Let's go get their stuff," he told them. "Then we can go home, and they can see the cat and her kittens."

"I hope they let us keep them," Mary remarked, as the three adolescents scurried off to where the luggage was being unloaded.

"I hope you keep an open mind about the pets," Ruth told them. "They were so upset over Allegro, we didn't have the heart to tell them they couldn't have the cat."

Rose stared at her mother, remembering when she had forbidden her to keep the alley cat she had been secretly feeding, and had had the animal shipped off to the pound to keep Rose from sneaking him into the house. Now Ruth was championing the cause of her three grandchildren?

Ruth smiled, obviously remembering the incident, too. "It's easier to spoil one's grandchildren than one's children," she told Rose, "and I'm much more open-minded now than I was when you were a little girl."

"Well, we'll see," John told them. "I suppose, if the animals are healthy and the kids take care of them, we can allow it."

"Yeah!" They turned to see the three teenagers standing behind them, arms loaded down with luggage.

"Thank you, Uncle John," Christopher told him. He had wanted a pet for years, but in the early days after he and his mother had moved to California, there had been no space for a pet, and later his mother was too busy to take care of a dog or a cat, and didn't think that Christopher was old enough for the responsibility. She had been considering letting him get a dog when she had decided to marry John, but that had been postponed until they moved to Iowa.

"We took care of Allegro," Mary pointed out.

"Well, it's not for sure that you can keep them, but I will consider it. Now, how about we load up the car and go home?"

XXXXX

Everyone sat in the parlor, drinking tea or soda pop and eating the cake that Mary and Nadia had baked to celebrate their parents' homecoming. John and Rose had looked at the cat and her kittens, and had finally agreed that they could keep them, although John had stipulated that they be taught to go outside as soon as the kittens were big enough.

The three teenagers had whooped and rejoiced, startling the mother cat so much that she had rushed to stand between them and the kittens, determined to protect her offspring. John and Rose had finally escorted them downstairs, where they had settled into the parlor to eat and examine the gifts and souvenirs the newlyweds had brought back.

Mary and Nadia were delighted with the African dresses Rose had bought for them, and with the exotic jewelry from their father. Christopher had examined the native artwork that his mother had brought him in puzzlement at first, and then with interest. He shared his mother's fondness for art, though he had little of his father's talent for it. John had brought him a section of rhinoceros horn, knowing the boy's penchant for collecting unusual things.

John and Rose had also brought gifts for Elizabeth and Ruth, exotic pieces of jewelry that, while not highly fashionable, would nevertheless stand the test of time, unusual pieces that captured Elizabeth's imagination and Ruth's desire to be noticed.

They had also brought back souvenirs for themselves, especially Rose, who had bought half a dozen outfits, several pieces of jewelry, and a few pieces of artwork to decorate her new home with. John had purchased a few items, too, but he was not nearly so interested in shopping as Rose was.

Rose sat back, watching everyone examine their gifts. She took a sip of tea, pushing the rest of her cake away as a slight feeling of queasiness came over her. The cake itself was fine, but she had been feeling ill off and on since they had boarded the ship home. At first, she had thought that it was seasickness, but she had never been bothered by seasickness before, and when the illness had continued after they had docked in New York and boarded the train home, she had thought back and recognized some other symptoms as well.

She smiled to herself, suspecting that she would soon have some good news for her husband, but she wanted to be sure first. Setting her cup down, she put the thoughts out of her head and leaned forward to point out a detail of the bracelet she had bought for her mother. She wouldn't say anything until she was sure.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_July 29, 1927_

Rose waltzed in the front door of the Calvert home, humming to herself. Everything was wonderful.

She had spent the two days since returning home from her honeymoon looking for a suitable place to set up as a movie studio, and had finally found just the spot on the outskirts of town, an old farm with a barn and several outbuildings, as well as two hundred acres of open land, some of it planted in trees, and with a creek running across it. It wasn't the bright, sunny land of Hollywood, but it would do for an independent moving picture studio. She had purchased it early that afternoon, signing the papers that made it hers. The next step was to order equipment and find actors and a story to film.

Later in the afternoon, she had gone to see the doctor about the symptoms that had been plaguing her since the trip home. Much to her satisfaction, and relief, she had been right about the cause. Now all she had to do was tell her family.

XXXXX

Rose cooked dinner herself that night, a feast of chicken, potato salad, fresh fruits and vegetables, and a peach pie. She even took a bottle of bootleg wine from the stash that John kept carefully hidden in a corner of the basement. Since it was a beautiful summer evening, she set a table outside for a picnic.

It was 7:30 before the whole family was home and ready for dinner. Christopher and Mary had been out with friends, Nadia had been spending a pleasant summer afternoon in the town library, and John had had a meeting after work. Rose was patient, though. Her news wasn't going anywhere.

When everyone was finally seated a served, Rose tapped on her glass to get everyone's attention. When Christopher and Mary had finally stopped bickering, she sat up straighter and set her fork down.

"I have an announcement to make," she told everyone, her eyes bright.

"Did you find a place for a movie studio?" Mary asked eagerly, knowing how Rose had been searching.

"Yes, I did, and I paid for it this afternoon. It's a farm just outside of town with several good-sized outbuildings that can be made into sets. But that wasn't what I was going to announce."

"What is it, then?" John asked. He suspected that he already knew, but he wanted to hear Rose say it.

Rose took a deep breath. "I'm going to have another baby."

"You are?" Nadia squealed, delighted at the thought.

"Aren't you two too old to have babies?" Mary asked, not so sure she liked this idea.

"Mo-om," Christopher whined, embarrassed by the news. He couldn't believe his mother and stepfather still wanted to do what it took to make babies.

"Yes, we're having another baby," Rose confirmed. "And we are not too old."

"But Dad's forty years old," Mary said. "When you get to be that old, uh…well…"

"Oh, shut up, Mary," Nadia told her. "Men can become fathers even when they're really old, and Mom is only thirty-two."

"Thank you, Nadia," John responded wryly, not sure he liked being called really old.

"Why do you want to have another baby?" Christopher asked. "Aren't we enough for you?"

"Christopher, we love all of you very much. That doesn't mean we don't want another child to love, too."

"But we're almost grown up. Why don't you just wait for grandchildren?"

"Because we want more children of our own right now."

"Come on, Christopher," Mary told him. "We'll have a little brother or sister who's related to all of us."

"Related to both of you," Nadia corrected. "Not to me."

"Related to you, too, Nadia," John told her. "You're as much my daughter as Mary is."

"But not by blood."

"Nevertheless…"

"What do you think of having a new baby, Dad?" Mary asked.

"It's sooner than I expected it to happen, Mary—it took longer to have you—but I'm happy about it. Your mother and I talked about this just after we were married, and agreed that we wanted to have another child." He turned to Rose. "When is it due?"

"In mid-March, or thereabouts. It didn't take long at all."

Christopher stared at his plate, turning bright red. "You shouldn't do that," he told his mother, scraping his fork along his plate.

"Stop it, Christopher. There's nothing wrong with having a baby."

"You always acted like you were so moral back home in California, and now you move out here and have a baby first thing."

"Christopher…there's different standards for single women and married women. I'm married now."

He continued to stare at his plate. "Were you really married to my father?"

Mary and Nadia gasped at the question, shocked that he would ask such a thing. John leaned forward across the table.

"Christopher, show your mother some respect," he told him sternly.

"Whatever makes you ask that?" Rose wanted to know.

Christopher just shrugged, refusing to answer.

"Yes, Christopher, I was married to your father. It didn't last long—he died in an accident soon after we were married, but you are legitimate." It was a lie, of course, but he didn't need to know that. In her heart, Rose had been married to Jack, and there was no need to dredge up subjects that belonged in the past.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Okay." He didn't look like he really believed her, though. Rose wondered if her mother or John had accidentally let something slip. No one else knew what had really happened, and neither of them knew everything.

"Mom?" Mary asked.

"Yes, Mary?"

"Are you still going to start your own movie studio, even though you're having a new baby? I can help with the studio," she added hopefully.

"Of course I'm still starting it. It may take a little longer, but I'm still going to try. I would be glad for your help, though. You know this area better than I do."

"I can help, too," Nadia offered. "I came up with an idea for a script while you were gone."

"I'll be glad to hear about it. Did you write any of it down?"

"Some of it. I'll show you after dinner, okay?"

"Mom?" Christopher spoke up.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I was rude." He hung his head, tapping his fork against his now-empty plate. "I could help, too. I was in a moving picture before."

"Yes, I remember that. We'll see what happens, okay? I thank you all for your help, but we'll have to wait and see how things go."

"You'll make it," John told her, smiling at her lovingly. "You've got the knowledge and talent, and we'll back you up every step of the way."

"It may take it longer than I originally planned, with a baby on the way."

John shrugged. "I've noticed, as have you, that things frequently don't go quite according to plan. You'll work around it. Maybe you can even put the baby in a picture or two."

Rose laughed. "Maybe. Maybe I can appear in a picture as a mother-to-be."

"And I could play your sister," Mary added. "I'll bet that Nadia could write a script like that."

Nadia nodded. "I could. I don't want to be an actress, but I could be a good writer."

"We'll work on that, Nadia. Okay?" Rose asked, starting to collect the dishes for washing.

"Let us do that, Mom," Mary told her, jumping up and taking the plates from Rose's hand. "After all, you're in a delicate condition."

Rose laughed at the thought. In a delicate condition, she had been housekeeper and nanny for the Calverts before Christopher was born, and in her current delicate condition, she had traveled all over the Angolan savanna, looking at the wildlife. There was nothing delicate about her condition, but she sat back nonetheless and let the girls clear the table, glaring at Christopher when he tried to avoid doing his share. It wasn't often that the kids were so eager and willing to work, and she was going to take advantage of it while she could.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

_March 15, 1928_

"Mother, please. I'm fine. I don't need to rest." Rose made her way slowly down the stairs, her enormous middle preceding her. Ruth followed after her, shaking her head.

"Rose, before you were born, I took the time to rest. I wanted to make sure I would have a healthy baby."

"I want a healthy baby, too, Mother. But things are different now. Exercise is not so frowned upon. Besides, I worked hard all through my pregnancy with Christopher, and he turned out fine. Things have been much easier this time—no toddlers to chase, a doctor instead of a midwife, and a housekeeper to do the heavy work."

"You worked for months, even though you knew you were expecting. This is why women are supposed to stay home."

"Mother, I'm fine, and so is the baby. I did not work too hard, and my movie studio is more of a success than had I hoped. All that exercise kept me from getting fat and weak. Strong women have strong babies."

"You're not a young girl anymore, Rose. It was one thing for you to work so hard before you had Christopher, but you're older now."

"Older and wiser. I know how to take care of myself better now, and there's always good food and medicine if I need it. Besides, Dr. Lauersen examined me yesterday, and the baby and I are both fine. It won't be long now."

"Rose, I'm your mother. You really should listen to me."

"I do listen to you—and to John, and to Dr. Lauersen. Then I make my own decisions."

"You should listen to your doctor."

"I do. He told me to exercise."

Ruth shook her head. "These young doctors don't know nearly enough about bringing babies into the world. Why, when you were born—"

"When I was born, far more babies died. Some things have changed for the better."

"You survived."

"So did Christopher, and I worked far more when I was carrying him than I have this time."

"Rose, at least sit down and let me get you a cup of tea."

Rose sighed. "All right, Mother."

She sat down in a parlor chair, putting her feet up. When Ruth had learned that Rose was pregnant, she had insisted upon coming to Cedar Rapids to help her. Rose had protested, reminding Ruth that she had a job in Philadelphia, and that she would lose it if she came to Cedar Rapids for so long. Ruth had replied that she had been offered a job with the formal attire store in Cedar Rapids, and could easily make the move.

Rose had still protested, but had finally given in when Ruth had put a guilt trip on her, complaining that Rose simply didn't want her to see her new grandchild and share in its life. Rose had finally told Ruth to come to Cedar Rapids—and had immediately found herself inundated with her mother's well-meaning advice. Ruth had not yet found a place to live when she moved to Cedar Rapids, so she had moved in with the Calverts, much to Rose's dismay. She loved her mother, but she didn't want her living with her.

Thus far, her efforts to get her to move out had been unsuccessful—Ruth was determined to be at her daughter's side every moment, and Rose couldn't think of a good reason to send her away. She had offered to help Ruth find a small house to live in, but Ruth had replied that she was fine where she was—and that Rose would be grateful for her presence once the baby was born.

Rose's only respite from her mother's well-meaning meddling was when Ruth went to work, and she had pointedly placed circled ads for rooms or houses for rent on her mother's pillow, trying to get her to move out. Ruth, however, was happy right where she was—living in the lap of luxury, with her daughter to fuss over and her grandchildren to dote on, and Rose could do nothing but gnash her teeth in frustration. Ruth needed a home of her own and something to occupy her besides Rose and her family, but thus far she hadn't found anything.

Rose looked up as Ruth came into the parlor, carrying two cups of tea. She handed one to Rose, then sat down in a nearby chair. Rose took a sip from her cup, stretching uncomfortably. The baby lay heavily within her, and her back had been aching off and on since early morning, making her suspect that the birth would occur soon.

Ruth watched her closely. "Are you all right, Rose? I still think you should rest."

"I am resting, Mother." Rose gritted her teeth.

"Now, Rose, I'm only trying to help—"

"Mother, I'm fine. The baby is fine. It will be born soon, with or without rest."

"Have you experienced any labor pains yet?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure. My back has been aching off and on, but at this stage, that's to be expected."

"That's how it was when you were born, thirty-three years ago. Trust me, Rose. I know about childbirth."

"So do I, Mother," Rose responded dryly. "This is my second child by birth, remember?"

"Yes, but it's been many years since Christopher was born."

"And even longer since I was born." She set the cup aside. "Help me up."

"Finish your tea first, Rose."

Rose sighed. "You don't want me to drink more first, Mother. Trust me."

With a sigh, Ruth helped her out of the chair. Rose stood as straight as she could, then waddled in the direction of the downstairs bathroom.

XXXXX

As she was washing up, Rose looked at herself in the mirror. Her midsection protruded far out ahead of her, making her feel like one of the airships that transported people over land and sea—huge and inflated. She had gained thirty pounds with this pregnancy, and hoped that the baby would be born soon.

As if in response to her thoughts, she felt her back muscles tighten again—but this time it didn't stop with her back, but went around her, tightening her stomach muscles as well. She waited for a moment, hoping that it was the beginning of labor. When the tightness eased, she sighed, making her way out of the bathroom. Maybe it was the beginning of labor, but if it was it was showing every sign of taking a long time.

She made her way back to the parlor, steeling herself to face more of her mother's advice.

XXXXX

As the afternoon progressed, the occasional tightening of Rose's muscles progressed into labor. She was pleased, but hid the fact from Ruth until her labor was well-advanced, not wanting any extra advice. By late afternoon, when the kids were home from school, she was ready to send for the doctor.

"Mother." Rose waddled back into the parlor, where Ruth was listening to the radio. "It's time."

Ruth got quickly to her feet, as excited as if it were her own child. "Let me get you upstairs, Rose."

"Mother, wait. Call the doctor first, and then call John. He should be home soon anyway, but just in case…"

"All right, dear. But I want you to go upstairs and lie down. Have Mary and Nadia help you."

Rose sighed. "Yes, Mother." She wondered at the wisdom of exposing two impressionable young girls to childbirth, then shrugged. When she was their age, she was already a mother.

"Mary, Nadia." Rose went into the kitchen, where all three high-schoolers were sitting at the table, ostensibly doing their homework, though Rose caught a glimpse of a paperback detective novel hidden inside Christopher's textbook.

"Hey, Mom." Mary looked up from her English book. She was thoroughly sick of school, but had to deal with it until she graduated in June. Nadia would be graduating also, even though she had started school a year after Mary had. Her scholarly sister, when given the chance, had taken extra classes, until she was ready to graduate a year early.

"Nana Ruth wants you to help me get upstairs and get settled. The baby is coming."

"Really?" Nadia pushed her books away, dumping a cat out of her lap as she ran over to Rose.

"Yes, really. Nana Ruth is calling the doctor and your father, but she wants you to help me get ready."

"I thought she said we were young and impressionable." Mary frowned, glad for the chance to set her books aside but wondering why they were being asked to help. The doctor would be there soon enough, and Nana Ruth hadn't seemed to want them to know much about what would happen when Rose had the baby.

Rose shrugged. "She's concerned for me."

"Why? You've had a baby before. You had Christopher."

Rose just shook her head. "She's my mother. It's her job to worry about me, just like it's my job to worry about you." She took the detective novel from Christopher. "Do your homework."

He turned around to look at her. "Can I help, too?" In spite of his embarrassment over his mother's swollen belly and the prospect of a new baby brother or sister, he was still intrigued by what was happening. And, at any rate, helping his mother was infinitely preferable to studying his Latin.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Christopher, this is a private thing for ladies."

"So why are you helping?"

"You little brat!" Mary went after him, but Rose stopped her.

"Why don't all three of you accompany me upstairs? It isn't every day that you get a new brother or sister. Then Mary can help me get ready to lie down, since she is an adult. You can all sit with me until the doctor arrives. Now, let's go on up before Nana Ruth decides to help, too."

At that moment, Ruth appeared in the doorway. "The doctor is on his way. I called John, too, but his secretary said that he left just a couple of minutes before I called and should be on his way home."

"Thank you, Mother. Why don't you wait for John and the doctor? The kids will help me upstairs." Rose waddled out of the room, the kids following her, before Ruth could object.

XXXXX

John arrived home a few minutes later. As he walked into the house, stamping the snow from his shoes, he called for his wife, who had been home every day for the past month, waiting for the birth of their child.

"Rose! I'm home!"

Ruth came into the entryway. "She's upstairs, getting ready to lie down. The baby is coming."

"Right now?" John tossed his coat onto a hook and pushed past Ruth, heading for the stairs. "Excuse me. I have to go see her."

Ruth followed him more slowly, to be greeted by the sight of Christopher and Nadia in the hall, their ears pressed to the door. They jumped back guiltily when they saw their father and grandmother.

"What are you doing?" Ruth asked, staring severely at them.

"We're waiting for Mary to finish helping Mom lie down," Nadia explained. "She's an adult, so she can."

John knocked on the door. "Rose! Mary!"

"Just a minute, Dad!" Mary called back, helping Rose into bed. Rose clutched her stomach as another contraction lanced through her. After more than fifteen years, she had forgotten just what childbirth felt like.

Mary finally opened the door, revealing the four family members crowding around it. "You can come in now," she said, as prim as any nurse.

John was immediately at Rose's side. "How are you doing?"

Rose grimaced. "I'm fine, except that it's a bit uncomfortable."

"Only a bit? As I recall, you screamed quite a lot when Christopher was born."

"Yes, well…it will probably still be a while before the baby comes. Is the doctor here yet?"

"I'll go check," Christopher volunteered, darting from the room. His mother and Uncle John looked like they were about to kiss, and although he wanted to try kissing a girl himself, he didn't like to see his mother and stepfather kissing. It was much too embarrassing.

He ran to the front door and looked out, seeing the doctor's car coming slowly along the ice-slicked road. When the man arrived, Christopher ran out to greet him, unmindful of the cold.

"My mother is having the baby," he said, more worried than he was willing to let on.

"So your grandmother said. Let's go inside, shall we?"

Christopher darted up the stairs again. "Mom! Uncle John! The doctor's here!"

Rose sat up as Christopher ran in, followed by Dr. Lauersen. "Thank you, Christopher. Thank you for coming, Dr. Lauersen."

"You're my patient, Mrs. Calvert. Of course I came." He turned to the others. "I'll need for you to wait outside now. I'll inform you when something happens."

"I'm staying," Ruth told him firmly. "I missed most of my grandson's life, and I'll be darned if I'll miss the birth of my new grandchild."

"Mother…" Rose lay back against the pillows. There was no use in trying to talk Ruth out of something once she had her heart set on it. "All right. You can stay. Just…don't disturb the doctor, all right?"

"Rose, I know how to act when a doctor is performing an examination. You don't need to worry."

Rose sighed and pushed down the blankets, allowing the doctor to examine her, while Ruth watched at a discreet distance.

"You're coming along fine, Mrs. Calvert. It shouldn't be more than another three or four hours."

Rose groaned, not looking forward to hours of laboring. Ruth came to sit beside her.

"You'll be fine, Rose. These things take time."

"I know that, Mother," Rose said, but then she looked up at her, comforted by her presence. It was good to have her there, even if she did meddle.

XXXXX

John sat in his study, across the hall from the bedroom he shared with Rose, idly sorting through a stack of papers. Rose had been more quiet this time, although she had recently begun crying out more, rattling his nerves and making him wish he could go inside and ease her pain.

From downstairs, he could hear the voices of the three teenagers, discussing school, dating, the new baby, and anything related to those things. They had finally finished their homework, after much lecturing from him and complaining from Mary and Christopher. Christopher had wanted his detective novel back when he was done, but Rose had taken it with her to their room, and he knew that his interruption wouldn't be welcomed.

He had forgotten about dinner, but the kids hadn't, so he had allowed them to make hamburgers for themselves. Mary and Nadia had eaten daintily, eating only one each, plus a piece of leftover apple pie, but Christopher had helped himself to four, and then complained because the girls had finished off the pie. Evidently, concern for his mother hadn't dulled his appetite.

John glanced at the clock, measuring how long it had been. Three hours. It wouldn't be much longer—he hoped.

XXXXX

Rose cried out, clutching her mother's hand, as another contraction ripped through her. Only three or four hours, the doctor had said—but it felt like she had been lying there forever, struggling to bring her baby into the world. She glared at Dr. Lauersen, suddenly put out with all men, everywhere, including her doctor and her husband.

Dr. Lauersen bent down to examine her again when the contraction ended. He nodded his approval.

"It shouldn't be long now, Mrs. Calvert. You're fully dilated."

"It's about time," Rose grumbled, wanting nothing more than to get the baby born.

"You're doing fine, Rose," Ruth assured her, wiping her daughter's sweaty brow. "Just give it a little more time."

"I don't want to give it a little more time! I want it born now!" Rose clapped a hand over her mouth. "My God. I'm starting to sound like my teenage son." She groaned as another contraction started. "Mother…"

"You'll be fine, Rose. Just push. And remember, the word no can save you from this predicament."

"You're the one who wanted more grandchildren." Rose gasped, bearing down.

"You never listened to me before."

"I did, too. And I want this baby. I just don't want to be in labor anymore."

"You haven't got far to go," Dr. Lauersen assured her. "Just let your body show you what to do."

"I know what to do! I have a son!"

"Good. Then do it."

"Don't patronize me." Rose gritted her teeth, arching her neck and pushing. She felt a gush of warm fluid as her water broke. Crying out, she gripped the sheet, almost pulling it free, and kept bearing down.

The pain ended. "You're almost there, Mrs. Calvert," the doctor told her. "I can see the head."

Rose moaned as the next contraction started, the sound rising to a high-pitched shriek of pain. But in spite of the pain, she kept pushing, determined to end her labor as soon as possible. She felt the baby's head emerge as she pushed, and then it slid from her body, wailing as it took its first breath.

"It's a girl!" Dr. Lauersen announced, cradling the crying newborn and cutting through the umbilical cord. He wrapped her in a blanket and handed her to Rose.

Rose took her newborn, pulling the blanket back to examine her. The baby had a thick patch of red hair on her head, far more hair than Christopher had had at birth. Her little face was screwed up in an angry wail, her tiny arms and legs flailing.

"Look at her, Mother." Rose showed Ruth the newborn. "She's beautiful."

"She looks just like you did when you were born, Rose, except that she has more hair."

"She must get it from John. Christopher didn't have this much hair at birth, either."

When Rose had brought forth the afterbirth and Dr. Lauersen had finished taking care of her, he took the baby from her to check her over and clean her. Rose watched his every move as he cleaned the baby and examined her, then diapered her, wrapped her in a clean blanket, and placed her back in her mother's arms.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Calvert." He smiled at her. "Would you like me to go and get your husband now?"

"Yes, please," Rose told him, laying back in exhaustion. She cradled the baby closer, positioning her so that Ruth could see her new granddaughter.

XXXXX

John stood outside the bedroom door, waiting. He had heard Rose's scream, followed quickly by a baby's cry. Now, he waited anxiously, wanting to know exactly what had happened.

Dr. Lauersen opened the door, almost running into him. He started, then steadied himself.

"Mr. Calvert."

"How did it go?" John tried to look around him into the bedroom.

"Your wife and daughter are both fine."

"It's a girl?"

The doctor nodded. "It is indeed. Healthy, strong, and with a powerful set of lungs."

"Can I come in?"

Dr. Lauersen nodded, stepping aside. John went straight to Rose, sitting down beside her. Ruth moved out of the way.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm fine." Rose looked at him sleepily. "We have a daughter, John. Look at her. Isn't she beautiful?"

"She looks just like you." He touched a tiny cheek, smiling as the baby turned her head and moved her mouth in a suckling motion.

Rose looked more closely at her daughter. "She resembles you, too. Look at that hair."

"Lucky her."

Rose punched him playfully on the arm. "You look fine. She's lucky to have hair like yours."

There was a knock at the door as Ruth returned, the three teenagers following after her.

"Come in!" John called, opening the door.

Mary, Nadia, and Christopher piled in, jostling to see their new sister. Finally, they hopped onto John's side of the bed, making Rose groan as the motion jarred her sore body.

"Look at her!" Nadia exclaimed, touching a tiny fist. The baby promptly curled it around Nadia's finger and hung on tight.

"She's so cute." Mary took the other fist, leaning over and making cooing noises.

Christopher made a face. Moving closer to his mother and newborn sister, he looked at the baby, who was beginning to whimper.

"Would you like to hold her, Christopher?" Rose offered, wanting her son to have the first chance to hold the baby, since she was his first blood sibling.

"Me?" Christopher looked a little nervous, though he tried to hide it. "I don't know how to hold a baby. What if I drop her?"

"You won't drop her. Come on. Sit next to me." Rose handed the fussing baby to her son, showing him how to hold her, while Mary and Nadia watched enviously, waiting for their chance to hold their new sister.

The baby stopped crying almost immediately, opening her eyes and staring blankly at her brother. Christopher stared at her with an expression of wonder.

"She likes me."

"Of course. You're her brother."

"What's her name?" Mary wanted to know, watching as Christopher held the baby a moment longer and then passed her to Nadia.

John and Rose hesitated. "We haven't decided yet," John told her, looking at his baby daughter. He knew what he wanted to call her, but he wanted Rose's consent to the name.

Rose seemed to sense what he was thinking. "What do you want to name her?" she asked, looking at John.

He hesitated again. How could he tell Rose that he wanted to name the baby for his late wives? It wasn't the sort of thing one did, even when the current wife had been an acquaintance of one of his late wives.

Finally, he decided to tell her. "I want to call her Jane," he told her. "Jane Miriam."

"Jane Miriam." Rose mulled the name over, knowing where it came from. She wasn't jealous or angry, though. The name was a tribute to those who had died, and they were no threat to her.

"You want to name her after my birth mother?" Mary asked, looking pleased. "Could you?"

"What do you think, Rose?" John asked, taking the baby from Mary and rocking her gently, as he had rocked Mary many nights after her mother had died.

"I think we can do that." Rose smiled, stroking the baby's head. "Does she resemble her at all?"

"Only in the color of her hair. Jane had red hair, just like Mary."

"And I knew Miriam." Rose took the baby back, rocking her to sleep. "The name doesn't bother me, John, if that's what's worrying you. It's a nice tribute. I didn't know Jane, but I thought rather highly of Miriam, though we weren't close. If you want to name her Jane Miriam Calvert, it's all right with me."

"That's her name, then." John took the sleeping baby from his wife. "Dr. Lauersen is downstairs with your mother, having a cup of coffee and filling out the birth certificate. I'll give him the name."

He stood, placing the sleeping infant in the cradle near Rose. Turning to the three teenagers, he ushered them out, then leaned down and gave Rose a kiss on the forehead.

"She's beautiful, Rose. Thank you."

Rose gave him a sleepy smile. "You're welcome, John. I love you."

"I love you, too, Rose. Get some rest now. I'll go take care of the birth certificate."

Rose nodded, already dozing off. She curled up comfortably, something she hadn't been able to do in several months, and closed her eyes.

John closed the door quietly behind him as he went to announce the name.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

_June 13, 1928  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

John, Rose, and Christopher sat in chairs in the high school gym, watching a long line of seniors step up to get their diplomas. Near the middle of the ragtag, uneven line they could see Mary and Nadia, looking very dignified in their caps and gowns.

John watched them with mixed emotions. He was glad to see them graduate and go on with whatever they had planned for their lives, but he also found it difficult to believe that they were grown up. Where had the time gone? Wasn't it only yesterday that he had taken two tiny girls by the hand and led them from the Carpathia and into a new life? And now, here they were, eighteen years old and graduating from high school, Nadia a year early.

Rose watched them with pride, remembering when they were very young and she was their caretaker. They had grown up so much since then, and they both had their own dreams and plans for the future. Mary wanted to be an actress, although she had already taken on her first two film roles, courtesy of Blue Rose, Rose's movie studio. Nadia's goal was to go to college, though she didn't yet have any concrete plans beyond that.

Rose glanced at her fifteen-year-old son, sitting restlessly beside her and watching the seniors with envy, wishing that he was graduating, too. He had just finished his freshman year of high school, and was chomping at the bit for the greater freedom and status accorded to older students. He wasn't terribly fond of school, except for playing on the baseball team, although he was more serious about it than Mary had been.

In three years, they would watch Christopher graduate from high school, and if Nadia had her way about it, she would finish college the following year. Then, it would be many years until they had such an event again, when Jane would graduate from high school in 1946. Rose looked at the infant in her arms, contemplating the idea. It seemed to be a very long time away, but she was sure that it would pass as quickly as the years when the older children were growing up.

She looked up as first Mary and then Nadia crossed the makeshift stage and accepted their diplomas. When she had been eighteen, she had been the mother of a young infant, working for the Calverts and living in a tenement in New York City. It all seemed so long ago, but watching the young women return to their seats, she was glad that their lives had been easier than hers. Not that she would have traded the life she had led, but they had never felt the need to flee from a life that was crushing them. Even when Mary had run away to Hollywood, it had been because she wanted a career, not because her family was too much for her to live with.

Rose reached for John's hand as his eyes followed his daughters, grown up and finished with high school now, understanding what he was feeling. She was proud to see that they had grown up so well, but it was sad to see them ready to leave and make their own way in the world. She would feel the same way when Christopher was ready to leave.

As the last of the students received their diplomas and sat down, the room was filled with barely contained excitement. When the principal finally announced that the ceremony was over, and the students graduated, the room was filled with whooping and cheering, mostly from the graduates, who, in their excitement over being finished with school, forgot that they were supposed to be adults and behaved like children again.

XXXXX

John took the family out to Cedar Rapids' best restaurant that night to celebrate his daughters' graduation. Mary and Nadia had primped and stood before their mirrors for an hour, highly conscious of their new status as adults. Rose had gotten Christopher to dress up, too, though he still slouched along, more interested in the food than in anything else.

Mary and Nadia sat side-by-side, each sporting new dresses and jewelry that had been gifts from their father for graduation. Their faces were bright and cheerful as they discussed their plans for the future.

"I'm going to Hollywood," Mary said confidently, setting her fork down beside her plate. "And this time, I'll do it right. No more fly-by-night dirty movie directors for me. I'm going to do what Mom did—work hard and see how far I can get."

"You'll make it," Nadia told her. "You're a really good actress. Those pictures you did for Mom's studio got rave reviews, even if they didn't get widely released."

"When are you planning to leave, Mary?" Rose wanted to know. "Do you still plan to finish the picture you started last month, or do I have to find another actress?"

"I'm staying until I'm done, of course. I was thinking of leaving at the beginning of September. We should be done by then."

Rose nodded. "I may come with you, if your father doesn't mind me being gone for a couple of weeks. I keep in touch with the people I know in Hollywood, so I may be able to help you get started. I'll also show you how to write a proper résumé."

"Thanks, Mom. Dad, do you mind if she comes with me?"

"Well, I'll certainly miss having you around, Rose, but I don't see any problem with you accompanying Mary to California. I wish that I could go, too, but I don't think I'll be able to get away. Maybe, when there's time, we'll all come out to California. And remember, Mary, if things don't work out, you can always come back here."

"I know, Dad. I'll remember that."

John looked at Nadia, who was finishing her dinner. "What exactly do you have planned, Nadia?"

"College, of course. I'm thinking of majoring in English."

"Which college? Coe?" John looked at her, hoping that she had chosen his alma mater, though it could be uncomfortable for her to go there, since so many people remembered him and might already have expectations for what Nadia would do. It had only been three years since John had graduated from college himself.

"Actually…" Nadia looked a little uncomfortable. "They accepted me, but…there's another one that I would like to go to more, and they accepted me also."

"Which one?" Rose asked, interested. She had been considering going to college herself, even if she was older than most of the students. There had not yet been time, between starting a business and raising a family, but she hoped to go one day.

"A university in Mississippi."

"Mississippi?" John looked puzzled. "What's in Mississippi?"

"I haven't been there before, and it sounds like an interesting place to go to college."

"It could also be difficult."

"Because I'm darker-skinned than many people?" Nadia shrugged. "I know that, but there's prejudice everywhere. Even here, where I've lived for several years and belong to one of the richest families in town, there are some people who won't give me the time of day because I look a little different. I'm used to it."

"That doesn't make it right," Rose responded. "People should accept you for who you are and not what you look like, but there are far too many people who can't see beyond the surface." She had met some of them, people who assumed that she was a loose woman because she was an actress. They didn't speak loudly—no one wanted to go up against the Calvert family, who had a great deal of power in the area—but they did say it, and it hurt sometimes. Now, her stepdaughter wanted to go to a university in an area that was notorious for its prejudice against those who weren't white. "Nadia…what you've seen here is nothing compared to what you might face in the South."

"Then I'll face it. Someone has to. Maybe things would be better if more people were willing to stand up for what's right."

"That may be, but…Nadia, please try to understand that we aren't trying to run your life. You can go where you want, do what you want, but we're still your parents, and we're concerned for you. Mississippi may be more than you can handle." John wasn't certain that he wanted to send his daughter off to a place where she might face such prejudice, without her family's money and status to protect her. But he also knew that he couldn't protect her forever, and that she had to make a life for herself out from under his shadow.

"I'll find out." Nadia was firm on the subject. She was going to the university of her choice, regardless of what anyone thought. She understood her parents' concern, but it wasn't going to deter her.

"We wish you luck, then," Rose told her, glancing at John.

"Yes." John nodded, reluctant to let her go, but knowing that this was what she wanted and was determined to do. "But the same thing goes for you as for Mary. If you need to come home, the door is always open."

Nadia looked at him gratefully, more nervous about going to a university away from home, let alone in a place where she might be disdained for her skin color, than she was willing to admit. "Thanks, Dad. I'll be here until late August, and then I'll catch a train to Mississippi."

John nodded. "Remember, Nadia, that if you need us, we'll take the time to go there, to help you work out whatever problems you might face. Mary, the same thing goes for you. We'll be there for you if you need us."

"I'll remember that, Dad." Mary looked at the dessert cart hungrily. When she got to Hollywood, she would have to watch her weight—the camera really did add ten pounds, as she had discovered when appearing in Rose's first moving picture—but for now she could eat what she wanted.

"Go ahead, Mary," John told her. "Choose whatever you want."

Mary hurried off, looking over the rich desserts. John looked at Nadia, admiration for her in his eyes. She was a brave girl, more brave perhaps than her sister, who wasn't likely to face the prejudice that Nadia would. There would be some, perhaps, because of her chosen profession, but nothing compared to what he feared Nadia would have to face.

"We're proud of you, Nadia," he told her. "You're one of the strongest people I know, and I think you'll be okay, regardless of what you face."

Nadia looked up at him, smiling at his blessing of her plans. "Thank you, Dad. I hope you're right."


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

_August 25, 1928_

"I'm going to miss you so much!" Mary hugged her sister, looking her over critically as they stood in the bustling train station in Cedar Rapids, hardly noticing what was going on around them.

"I'll miss you, too, Mary." Nadia hugged her sister back, getting teary-eyed now that the time had come for them to part. They'd had their share of squabbles over the years they were growing up together, but they were still sisters, and now they were going their separate ways.

"Don't forget to write." Mary stood back, looking at Nadia.

"I will…as soon as you get a permanent address."

Mary had finished the picture Rose had cast her in and was on her way to California, Rose accompanying her. Nadia, in spite of her parents' misgivings, was on her way to Mississippi for college. Their bags and boxes were packed and loaded onto their separate trains, and the whole family had accompanied them to the station.

Rose walked up to them, hushing a fussing Jane, who would be coming with her to California. She would stay with Mary for two weeks to help her get started before returning home.

"Nadia, if you want to write to Mary, you can send the letters to us at first, and we'll make sure she gets them."

"I'll do that, Mom." Nadia looked up to see that her father and Christopher had joined them. "I'm going to miss you all so much!"

"We'll see each other again, Nadia," Mary assured her. "We'll all be together for holidays, and you'll come home for the summer."

"I know, but…it just won't be the same. We won't all be one family living together anymore."

John hugged both of his elder daughters, seeing how Nadia was trying to not to cry. Mary, in contrast, was excited about moving, her eyes sparkling, even though she would miss them, too.

"It'll be all right, Nadia," he told her. "You're going to be fine, and you're going to get the college education you've dreamed of. I must admit that I wish you were closer to home, but you'll be all right wherever you go. Just remember that I love you…we all do, and you can come home to visit whenever you like. If you need money, just wire me."

"I'm just going to Mississippi." Nadia gave him a brave smile. "It isn't that far away. You can get there on the train in only a day."

"That's right, and we'll probably come to visit sometime in October. As for you, Mary, don't get so caught up in your glamorous new life that you forget about us. It takes a lot longer to get to California than Mississippi, though we'll try. I expect you to make the effort to keep in touch with us."

"I will, Dad. Don't worry." Mary's eyes gleamed at the thought of where she was going. "Anyway, acting isn't all glamour and everything. It's a lot of work, too. Remember, I've been in three of Mom's pictures."

"I know." John had learned that actors making a motion picture sometimes kept very strange hours, and even stranger company. Rose had managed to get people from Hollywood and New York to work for her, boosting the business in the local hotels and restaurants considerably. She had also used local talent, whoever she could find, including filming him working when she couldn't find a suitable actor for a bit part as a businessman. It had taken several tries before he was calm enough in front of the camera to work normally.

"Just don't be too disappointed if you're not a huge success right away, Mary," Rose told her, handing the baby to John for a moment. "It took me several years before I became a star."

"I know that. But you know what, Mom? Even if I'm not a huge star, I still want to act. I just…like it. It's fun. There's nothing better than turning into someone else for a while, and having people believe in what you've become."

"That's an attitude that's likely to succeed," Rose said, smiling. "A lot of people go to Hollywood or New York looking to be big stars, without any idea of how much competition there is or how much work it takes. And don't forget, motion pictures aren't the only acting venues. There's also stage and radio…I've even heard that they've been trying to develop a kind of machine where moving pictures can be broadcast into your house, like radio, except you can watch it, too."

Mary's eyes widened at the idea. Imagine being able to watch moving pictures from the comfort of one's own home! Some rich people had their own screens and could get films, of course, but her father hadn't gotten one. If there was a machine that could do it like a radio, it would be such a convenience.

"If anyone gets something like that to work, I want to be a part of it. Maybe there could be special pictures for the moving picture machine, just like there are programs for the radio."

"Well, someone has to get it to work first," Rose advised, but she shared Mary's enthusiasm, thinking of all the fascinating things that could be done with such a machine.

The train whistles blew, startling them. John hugged both of his daughters, giving them each a long look. His girls were grown now—Mary, the child of his marriage to Jane, and Nadia, the frightened toddler he had adopted after she had lost her mother on the Titanic. Each of them had their own hopes and dreams for the future, and much as he would have liked to keep them close, they needed to go out into the world and work toward those goals. He was more fortunate than Rose's mother had been, he knew. Mary and Nadia felt no need to run away, to cut themselves off from him, and certainly he was more fortunate than Elizabeth Anders—his daughters were alive and well, and not afraid to share what happened in their lives with him. When they married, he would be there, not an ocean away with no knowledge of what was happening. And if something happened to one of them, he wouldn't have to find out from a stranger claiming to be a husband.

"Bye, Dad." Nadia hugged him tightly. "I'll be fine. It'll just take some adjusting."

Mary hugged him, too. "We'll be back often enough. You haven't seen the last of us," she joked. Then she hugged her sister. "Study hard, Nadia, okay? I know you like to study, but you have something to prove—that your darker skin doesn't make you dumb, and that a woman can go to college to learn, instead of just to look for a husband. Of course," she added, "if you do find Mr. Right, don't let him go."

"I will, Mary." Nadia hugged her back. "And you tell me whatever you're doing, okay? If you're in a motion picture, I want to know so I can see it. And if somebody gets those machines to work, and you're in a picture for them, you'll have to tell me that, too."

"I will." Mary stepped back. "You'd better get on your train before it leaves without you."

"Yeah." Nadia gave Mary one last hug, then quickly embraced Rose and Jane. "Bye, Mom. Bye, little Jane. I bet you'll have grown so much when I see you again."

Jane gurgled, looking at her older sister. Rose hugged her stepdaughter back.

"We all love you, Nadia, and we'll miss you."

"Yeah," Christopher added, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. "I'll miss you, too."

"I'll miss you, too, kid." Nadia gave him a quick hug, then looked up at him. Seemingly overnight, he had sprouted to nearly six feet tall, although he was still very lanky.

Her train's whistle blew again, and she stepped away, picking up her bags and turning toward the train.

"Bye, everybody. I love you all." She hurried away, not looking back until she was on the train.

Finding a seat, she stood at the window and waved as the train pulled out of the station, watching until everyone had disappeared from sight.

John watched the train go, waving until it was out of sight. One of his children was grown and gone, and another would follow in a few minutes. Sighing, he turned to look at Mary, Rose, and Jane.

Mary had her bags and Rose's, while Rose carried the baby and a diaper bag. They juggled their loads, looking toward where their train was boarding.

"I guess this is it," he said, hugging Mary. "Nadia's off to college, and you're off to Hollywood."

"We'll be back to visit, Dad," Mary promised, hugging him back. "Especially Nadia, since she'll be back in the summers. But I'll come back, too, and if Mom needs an actress, I'll be there."

"I know, Mary. My little girl. It's so hard to believe you're grown."

"I can believe it. It took forever sometimes."

"Well, remember that it will go a lot faster from here on out. You'll be nineteen in December…hard to believe."

"I'll be fine, Dad. Mom will show me what I need to know. I'm willing to work hard and do what it takes to be an actress."

"As long as you don't do _anything_ that it takes," Rose interjected. "You know what I'm talking about. Not only did you have that bad experience with that director, but we discussed what young actresses sometimes face. Watch what you do and stay out of trouble, or I can guarantee that your father, in spite of the fact that you're grown, will ship you back to Cedar Rapids so fast you won't know what hit you, and keep you here until you've finished college."

Mary looked horrified at the idea. She'd had her fill of school, and four years of college did not appeal to her.

"I'll behave. I promise!"

"Good to hear." John looked at where the train was nearly finished boarding. "I guess you'd better get going."

"Yeah." Mary gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I love you, Dad. I'll be back."

"Thanks, Mary. I love you, too."

Rose gave John a kiss, too, balancing the baby and the bag in her arms. "I'll see you in about three weeks, love."

"It'll seem like three years," John replied, kissing her back.

Christopher rolled his eyes, embarrassed to see them acting like that in public. Turning to Mary, he told her, "Have fun in Hollywood. I was in a picture there once, when I was little."

"I know. You've told me so a thousand times."

"Yeah…okay. Well, do what Mom said and stay out of trouble. Oh, and one other thing." He grinned. "Stay away from cactus."

"Good advice, little brother. You should follow that advice, too. Stay out of trouble and cactus." Christopher got himself into almost as much trouble as Mary had growing up.

"Shut up."

"You shut up." Mary reached up and ruffled his hair, much to his annoyance. "I'll see you at Thanksgiving, Christopher. Maybe you'll find a girlfriend by then."

"Shut up."

Mary turned and headed towards the train, Rose following. They got aboard just as it was about to pull away, and stood in the doorway for a moment, waving.

When the second train was out of sight, John sighed and looked at the one family member remaining at home for the moment. "Looks like it's just you and me, Christopher."

Christopher shrugged. "No women to boss us around. We can do whatever we want and be as messy as we want."

"Not likely. The housekeeper will have a fit."

"Well, at least Mom won't tell me what to do for a few weeks."

"Be respectful of her, Christopher. She wants what's best for you."

"I know, but…" He dug the toe of his tennis shoe into the dirt outside the station. "Well, she won't lecture me," he finished. "You don't lecture. Can't things be a little different while she's gone, like letting me stay out later and bring girls home?"

"You can stay out an hour later as long as you stay out of trouble." John was willing to concede that much. "But you can't bring any girls home if I'm not there. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Christopher mumbled.

"Don't look so glum, Christopher. You'll grow up soon enough. I don't want you getting a girl in trouble before then."

"You mean I can get a girl in trouble after I'm eighteen?"

"Don't be a smart mouth. You know what I mean." He dug into his pocket for the car keys. "Let's go home."


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

_October 1, 1928  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Rose returned to Cedar Rapids after spending two weeks in Hollywood with Mary, helping her to settle in. It hadn't changed much since she'd moved to Cedar Rapids. There were still dozens of would-be stars, young and not so young, looking to break into the moving picture business, most of whom had no idea what they were getting into. Privately, she thought that Mary was much better off than most of them, since she had some experience and knowledge, as well as a well-known stepmother in the movie business. In addition, she didn't have to worry about trying to make a living while she worked toward becoming an actress—if she ran into trouble, her father would send her money. Mary was determined to make it on her own, but Rose was glad she had those resources. Life could be hard for a struggling actress, and Mary was in a much better position than Rose herself had been when she had started out thirteen years before.

Not surprisingly, Mary hadn't been an immediate success. Stars who were discovered and became immediately successful were few and far between, and many weren't prepared for the life of a celebrity, burning out quickly and disappearing. But Rose had introduced her to several well-known actors and directors, as well as some not so well-known ones, feeling that there was no reason to discriminate against someone simply because they weren't famous. Every person was valuable to know.

Mary had signed up with several agencies that hired extras, hoping that it would get her started just as it had gotten Rose started. She had also immediately signed up for auditions for various directors and moving picture companies, distributing the resume Rose had helped her write and bringing clips of the films she had taken part in for Rose's movie studio in Cedar Rapids, the last of which had become surprisingly successful and was being shown in theaters in major cities across the country, including Los Angeles. She hadn't gotten a break yet when Rose had left, but she was determined to keep trying until she did, and Rose had no doubt that her elder stepdaughter would make something of herself.

Rose had returned home to find that her mother had moved back in with the Calverts. After Jane had been born, Rose had succeeded in getting Ruth to rent a small house on the outskirts of town, but when Rose had left with Mary, Ruth had decided to move back in to help John and Christopher. Rose wasn't happy to have her mother living with her again—they had different ideas of how the house should be run and the children cared for—and quickly began trying to convince Ruth to go back to her own house.

John and Christopher hadn't been terribly happy when they arrived home from the train station and found Ruth waiting for them, but John was too polite to ask her to leave. Ruth had felt that they needed someone to run the house for them while Rose was gone, although Christopher had insisted that he and John could do it themselves. Ruth had been adamant, however, giving the housekeeper instructions and hiring a cook when no one was looking. It had taken all of Rose's patience not to order her well-meaning but aggravating mother out of her house when she had returned.

At least Nadia was doing well. She had written home soon after she had arrived, telling them that she had gotten settled into her dormitory without trouble and had signed up for four classes. She had made a few friends, too, although some people eyed her olive skin with suspicion, and others were put off by her accent, which marked her as a Yankee instead of a southerner. Still, her letters had indicated that she was doing well and was enjoying college.

However, on October first, the Calverts received a letter with a much different tone from Nadia—this one upset and almost frantic.

_Dear Dad and Mom,_

_In spite of my earlier success in college, I have run across a problem that I can't seem to solve. Perhaps I should explain exactly what has happened._

_My roommate, or should I say, former roommate, and I didn't get along from the start. We both come from well-to-do families, but hers has fallen on hard times, and for some reason she decided to take it out on me. We managed to ignore each other most of the time, but two days ago I learned that she had gone to the dean and threatened to leave the school, all the while dragging its reputation through the mud, because she didn't wish to go to school with an 'uppity nigger', meaning me. For some reason, she was observing the fact that my 'summer tan' didn't fade, and this convinced her that the school had been duped into letting me in, since they don't allow Negro students here._

_She told the dean that she could understand how the administration had been fooled, with the current fashion for tanning and the fact that my family probably paid them well to let me in, but she knew that no decent school could continue to let a 'nigger' study with white students, and demanded that I be expelled immediately. She also pointed out that it is probably against the law to allow students of different races to attend the same school, even in college._

_I told the dean that I wasn't what she said I was—I hate the word nigger. It's so ugly, but it seems to be my former roommate's favorite word at the moment, at least when she sees me. At any rate, he doesn't quite believe me, but says that if I can prove her wrong, I can stay. I am as entitled as anyone else to go here, even if there is a law that says that schools can't have students of different races. I think that law is mainly aimed at keeping Negro and white students apart, and other races aren't given as much attention._

_Dad, you told me once that you thought I was probably Arab, so I looked up Arabs and found that we are scientifically considered to be a part of the Caucasian race, even if we are a little darker than your average Englishman. Personally, I find all of this argument about a person's race to be ridiculous, but I can't change it, and right now I'm afraid that I won't be able to stay in college._

_You said that you would come and visit, so could you please come soon? You both have a lot of influence, especially Dad, so maybe you can get me out of this mess. Maybe I shouldn't have gone here, but I like this college, in spite of my former roommate and some others who could use a lesson in manners._

_Please, please come quickly. I don't know how long they'll let me stay otherwise._

_Love,  
Nadia_


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

_October 3, 1928  
Mississippi_

John and Rose sat together on the train, watching the landscape outside their window. It had been two days since they had received Nadia's letter begging for their help.

John had sent a telegram to Nadia, telling her that they were on their way, and the next day they had boarded a train heading for Mississippi, leaving Christopher in Ruth's care. Rose had finally convinced her mother to return to her own house, but she suspected that the battle would begin again when they returned, since Ruth had returned to the Calvert home to keep an eye on Christopher.

Neither of the Calverts were entirely certain of what was going on, beyond what they had read in Nadia's letter, but they knew that it had to be bad for her to be so upset. Nadia was usually calm and collected, at least where her own life was concerned, so the letter meant that something was very wrong.

John sat up straighter, looking again at Nadia's letter. He wasn't sure of what Nadia's situation was. He knew that racial prejudice was a problem in America, but what it was like in the South was largely a mystery. He had done little business in the South, and most of what he knew about it came from the newspaper—not always a reliable source.

"What are you thinking?" Rose asked, breaking the silence. John had been worrying about Nadia since they had received her letter.

"She sounds pretty upset in this letter, and it's not like Nadia to blow things out of proportion. Still, I can't help but wonder if things are really as bad as she says."

"They could well be. I went to Mississippi once to film part of a moving picture, and I noticed how segregated things were. Most of us came from Hollywood, but there were a few local people working with us, and a lot of people came to watch the filming and try to meet the movie stars. One of the cameramen was Negro—the director didn't like having a racially mixed crew, either, but I had insisted upon having this particular cameraman because he was one of the best I'd ever met, and his race didn't matter to me in the slightest. Stars can do things like that—fame brings a certain amount of power.

"Many of the people who were watching or working with us didn't want him there, but as long as he 'knew his place', they tolerated him. But when they saw us talking—I never had a problem with talking to the people I was working with, unlike some stars, who think far too highly of themselves—all hell broke loose. People were shocked at me—but as an actress, I had a certain amount of notoriety, deserved or not. It was what people thought of him that was more shocking. Negro men don't have conversations with white women—it simply isn't done. Some of them were ready to lynch him on the spot, and it was only after the director made a statement about 'Hollywood decadence' that people calmed down.

"The incident passed, but it did serve to illustrate how deeply ingrained racial prejudice is there. It's probably a holdover from the days of slavery. We see it where we are, but not nearly as much. Of course, Cedar Rapids is mostly white, but even in cities where there is a greater mixture of people, like Los Angeles and New York, it isn't as bad as in the South."

"But not everyone thinks that way, I'm sure," John said thoughtfully. "Nadia said in an earlier letter that she had found some friends, and had even gone out on a date with a nice young man."

"No, not everyone is like that, but far too many people are. Nadia might have found friends who are the exception, or perhaps her friends thought of her as being white. We'll know what kind of friends they are if they stuck with her during all this."

"But even if they didn't stick with her, that doesn't necessarily mean that they're judging her for her race. Some people just shy away when there's trouble."

"I know…but I still wish she didn't have to face this. Maybe it would have been better if she had gone to Coe College."

"She wanted to try something new, and go her own way—just as you did."

"I know, but I still worry about her. I guess that's what mothers do—even when it's a grown stepdaughter. It makes me realize why my mother was so upset when I refused to get into the lifeboat with her on the Titanic and ran off. I knew exactly what I needed to do, but going back into a sinking ship is dangerous—and in spite of the fact that we were often at odds with each other, she didn't want anything to happen to me. Still, I guess it just goes to show that we can't protect our children from everything—and just because they're young doesn't mean that they're stupid, or that their hearts aren't in the right place. We parents want to protect them, but sometimes they just have to find things out for themselves—and we can only hope that everything goes well for them."

XXXXX

Rose sat up straighter, rocking Jane gently as the train pulled into the station. John was already picking up their bags and preparing to exit, leaving Rose with only the baby to carry.

They got off the train, making their way around the crowds of people waiting in the station. John had sent Nadia a telegram telling her when they would be arriving, but he didn't know if she had received it, or if she would be waiting for them.

Several people stared at Rose as she followed John towards the exit—the presence of a movie star in the small town was unexpected. A few people started to approach her, wanting an autograph, but backed away when they saw the determined look on her face and the squirming baby in her arms. It was clearly not a good time to try to meet her.

John and Rose went outside, Rose trying to calm the fussing infant, who was teething and cranky. Having seen no sign of Nadia, they intended to look first for a hotel or boarding house, and then go to the university in search of their daughter.

Before they could leave, however, they caught site of a lone figure sitting on a bench, absently twirling a strand of black hair around her fingers. A moment later, Nadia saw them and leaped to her feet.

"Dad! Mom!"

A few more people turned to stare as the olive-skinned girl who had been the cause of so much scandal rushed into the arms of her famous parents.


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

_October 3, 1928  
Mississippi_

"Nadia!" John and Rose threw their free arms around her, Jane squirming and fussing at the sudden movement.

"You're here! I was worried that you wouldn't get here in time."

"Nadia, what exactly is going on?" John asked, leading them away from the crowd.

"It's like I said in my letter—the school is threatening to expel me for being Negro. I told them that I'm Arab, and technically a part of the Caucasian race, but they wouldn't listen. I haven't been allowed to go to class for two days."

John sighed angrily. "Of all the stupid, idiotic reasons to expel someone, this has to be the worst. I would understand if you were caught cheating, or committed a crime, but to expel you because you have olive skin is pure stupidity. They should be proud to have someone of your intelligence here, since you could have gone anywhere you wanted. You have the intelligence and the money to attend any college you want, and they're upset that you're going to this one. It doesn't make sense."

"Racial prejudice never does," Rose interjected dryly, "especially when it's a member of your family who is suffering."

"Well, we'll just have to see what we can do about that. I can't change society, but I'll do my best to keep you here, Nadia—if that's what you want."

"It is. I like this university, in spite of their attitude towards me, and not everyone is that bad. I've made some friends here, and most people didn't pay any particular attention to my skin color before this scandal. You know how popular a suntan is, and there's quite a number of white people who are naturally dark anyway. It's only because my roommate got jealous and made a fuss that all of this happened. She did leave the school, by the way, but I don't think it's any great loss. She was rude, unfriendly, and bitter towards everyone, not just me. Her opinion might have counted for more, and caused me more trouble more quickly, if she wasn't so disliked to begin with. She was known for spreading nasty rumors about people."

"But the dean still listened to her?"

"People in this town are quite firm about keeping the races separated. Some people are even afraid that the color of darker-skinned people will rub off on them, which is patently ridiculous, but you can't expect much sense out of such people. It's mostly the poor white trash who think that, since other people are better educated, and the more well-off ones often have Negro servants. But you can't expect the white trash to change, because they've spent so much time marrying their own relatives that they've turned stupid."

"Nadia!" Rose looked at her sharply. "Now you're sounding as bad as those who are against you. You can't judge a person by their skin color, or their social status, or even who their relatives are. Your father came from London's East End, where the people are as bad off as the poor people here, and sometimes worse. It didn't stop him from getting to where he is today, though. You need to judge a person by who they are, not by what they look like or what they have. Prejudice works both ways."

Nadia stared at her, having never considered that. She supposed that Rose was right, but it was hard to accept those who didn't accept you.

John changed the subject. "We need to find a place to stay," he told Nadia. "Is there a hotel or a boarding house in this town?"

"There's both, but the hotel is pretty run down. There's a good boarding house near the university, though. One of my friends lived there before she moved into the dormitory. They might have space. It isn't that far from here, so we can walk over there without too much trouble. Can I carry Jane?"

"Sure." Rose handed the wiggling baby to her older sister. Jane began to wail, not remembering Nadia, but soon calmed as her sister put her on her shoulder and patted her back soothingly. Nadia was good with children, and Rose thought that she would make an excellent teacher.

John handed Rose her bags and set out behind his daughter, linking arms with his wife. Nadia turned to make sure they were following, then headed down the street in the direction of the boarding house and the university.

XXXXX

As soon as John and Rose had rented a room and were settled, they went over to the university to talk to the dean. Nadia went with them, to introduce them and explain the situation further.

As soon as they were seated in the office, Nadia told them again what had happened, going into more detail, while the dean tapped his pencil impatiently. He hadn't wanted to see them without an appointment, but his secretary was a fan of Rose Dawson and was so impressed by meeting her in person that she hadn't turned them down when Rose had requested to see the dean immediately.

When Nadia had finished telling her side of the story, the dean dismissed her and turned to John and Rose. His was face was sympathetic but firm.

"Mr. and Mrs. Calvert, I understand that you want your daughter to remain at this university, but there are certain standards that must be upheld. We cannot allow racial mixing here. Can I assume that she is adopted, since she bears no resemblance to either of you?"

"She is adopted," John replied, his English accent becoming more pronounced as he grew more annoyed, "but she is not 'colored', as you say. Her parents were Arab."

"And how did she come to be in your care?"

"Her father died when she was very young, and her mother died in the sinking of the Titanic. I, too, am a Titanic survivor, and I took her in."

"And how do you know what her race is?"

"Her mother befriended my late wife, Miriam, who also went down with the ship. Perhaps you've heard of the Anders financial empire?"

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"Miriam was a member of the Anders family, and her mother, after inheriting everything following her husband's death, hired me. I quickly rose in prominence there, and am now president of the Cedar Rapids branch."

"And you expect me to allow your daughter to remain at this university because of your position."

"It did cross my mind. She belongs to a powerful family, sir. It might not be in your best interest to cross us."

"Anders has no presence in this town. You have no power here, Mr. Calvert."

"That could change."

Rose looked from one man to the other, keeping her face carefully expressionless as she saw a side of her husband that she had never seen before. This man had no compunction about using his power to protect the interests of his daughter.

The dean had been listening, thinking about John's veiled threat. Finally, he smiled.

"That may be, Mr. Calvert, but it takes time to establish a business in a new town, and by that time your daughter would have long since left this university."

"It wouldn't take that long, considering what I have already observed about this town. The people here are poor. A new factory, with all the jobs it would provide, would be welcomed."

"And how would that affect this university?"

"If we were to offer to bring a branch of the company to this town, get people interested and hopeful, and then withdraw that offer because of your refusal to allow my daughter to be educated here—it would look very bad for this university, and for you. From the letters Nadia has sent me, this university is strapped for money. You have little enough to begin with. How would it affect the university, I wonder, if people were angry enough to refuse to support it?"

The other man looked at him calculatingly. "You're bluffing."

"No." John sat back, crossing his arms casually. "I'm not."

The dean was beginning to sweat. He had heard of the Anders empire and knew how powerful it was, and now that he thought about it, he realized that he had heard of John Calvert as well. Mr. Calvert did indeed wield a great deal of power, and he had chosen this moment to exert it.

Still, he wasn't ready to concede defeat. "You'd really do that to this town? Give people hope, and then take it away?"

"I'll do whatever it takes to protect my family." John's face was implacable. He knew that his words were shocking to Rose, but he had thought out very carefully beforehand what he might do and say, and this man had fallen right into his hands. He knew about tyrants—he could be one, when he chose—and he knew how to handle them. He hadn't been a businessman for thirteen years without learning a few of the more unsavory tricks.

"Well." The dean folded his hands, thinking of how to concede without losing face. He suspected that John Calvert would do exactly as he had threatened, and that his own position would be on the line if it happened. But after the amount of attention he had given to Nadia's case, to simply back down might also destroy his standing. He had to find a way to allow the girl to stay without alienating the people around him, and making himself look foolish. "She's Arab, you say?"

John nodded slowly, never taking his eyes from the man. He was close to winning, but the dean was no fool. The slightest concession might take away Nadia's chances.

"I have been told that the Arabs are scientifically classified as Caucasians. I suppose, under the circumstances…" He trailed off, another idea occurring to him. "You, Mr. Calvert, speak with an English accent. Are you British?"

"I was, but I became an American years ago."

"I have also been given to understand that even in England, there are some individuals that are…of dark complexion. Is this true?"

"Yes, it is."

"And since you are British, it would make perfect sense that you had adopted a British child, would it not?"

"What are you getting at?"

"Mr. Calvert, the standards of this town are quite clear. Even an Arab student may not be accepted. But if she were British…"

"And that's what you plan to tell everyone, when you announce that she will be allowed to stay. You will tell them that it was a mistake, that she is not 'colored', but is instead one of the darker-complected individuals from England, as confirmed by her father." He leaned forward, looking the dean in the eye. "I'll accept that."

The dean nodded, a sly smile crossing his face. "Now, Mr. Calvert, about the idea of building a factory here…the town's council would be open to the idea, I'm sure. You might want to put the idea forward…as a precaution, you understand. It may take years for an idea to be implemented, or discarded, as the case may be."

"Of course." John smiled back tightly. He had anticipated this, and had been planning to put the idea forward from the moment he had made the threat. The dean was no fool, and a threat with nothing to back it up would be ineffective.

"Perhaps you might even find this town to be a viable place to build a factory. Certainly, there is no shortage of labor here."

"I'll consider it." John felt a grudging respect for the man, in spite of his dislike for him. He had understood what John was doing and turned the tables on him. The dean was not a man to be underestimated, despite John's greater power, and he would have to be on his guard against him.

"We have that settled, then." The man nodded, satisfied with the outcome of the meeting. "You will, of course, inform your daughter of what we have decided. I wouldn't want her spreading a story conflicting with the official one."

"Certainly. You don't have to worry about your school's reputation, sir. Nadia is no fool, and she knows when to keep her mouth shut. You have nothing to be concerned about."

That said, John stood, helping Rose to her feet, and walked out of the office, not looking back.


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

"I think you've made an enemy." Rose looked across the small room at John, unbuttoning her dress and putting the fussing baby to her breast.

"I know. Rose, about what happened today…"

"You did surprise me, I'll admit. I've never seen you be so…ruthless before."

Her face was expressionless, waiting for what he would say. Rose wasn't one to judge without knowing the facts, but she had never cared much for ruthless men. She'd seen too much damage done by them to be very tolerant.

"Rose…" John tried to think of how to explain himself to her, knowing how she felt. "I'm not usually like that, but…you don't get to be where I am without learning…and using…a few dirty tricks. I'm sure you know that."

"I do…but there's different levels of ruthlessness. It depends upon what kind of tricks you use, and who you use them against. If you're leveling the playing field against other businessmen who know and understand those tricks, then that's one thing…as long as no one is really hurt by them. I am well-aware that the business world is a tough place—Hollywood isn't much different—but sometimes things go too far. When lives are destroyed in the name of power or greed—that's going too far."

"I have never destroyed anyone's life, and I've always done my best to ensure that those working below me have a fair break. I wasn't always in this position, you know."

"I know. I lived with you when you were just starting out in America. I also know that Anders has a reputation for fair dealing—but I also know that things go on below the surface that the public doesn't know about. I grew up in the upper class, you know. Business dealings, whether from new money or old, can be merciless. And all too often, the people who stand in the way—especially the poorer ones—are the ones who suffer. The people at the top are usually cushioned by their money and reputation, while those at the bottom don't have those advantages. But even the people at the top can be harmed—and all too often unfairly."

"Rose, you've been to Anders Cedar Rapids. You've seen how things work, how the workers are treated. I've never objected to unionizing, or hired scabs to replace people who had a legitimate complaint. And when you saw how things work, you know that I didn't fix them up for you beforehand—because you have a habit of showing up unexpectedly. I have stepped on a few toes—mostly when things were about to get out of hand, or in pushing Anders' products above the competitors'. But since other businessmen use the same strategies, I'd say we're even."

"And the dean?"

John sat back, thinking. "I'll do what it takes, to protect my family. Nadia was being treated unfairly, and I won't stand for that. I'd do the same for you, or for Mary or Christopher or Jane, or even for Elizabeth or your mother."

"John…I do understand." Rose rocked the nursing baby gently, wincing as one of the infant's new teeth dug into her flesh. "I must admit that I stepped on a few toes in my career as an actress—though they usually deserved it," she added ironically. "I also know that you, unlike some successful businessmen, are not amoral—you have a heart, even if you do try to ignore it on occasion. You do what you have to, but no more. And what you've done for the workers, and for charity—it isn't just for show. You genuinely care. I respect that, and it goes a long way toward making up for the occasional ruthless behavior."

"I try not to hurt anyone." John sighed. "I guess it just comes with the territory, and in trying to get to the top."

"That's usually the way it is. I know that the ideal is that if you just work hard enough you'll be a success, like in those Horatio Alger books that Nadia used to read, but the truth is, success depends in a large part upon who you know and what you're willing to do. A lot of people work very hard and never get out of the slums, while others do next to nothing and still always seem to come out on top."

"You sound like Miriam."

"Her ideas were considered radical in our society, but there was a lot of truth to them. I think you agreed with her ideas, too."

"Some of them. Others…you're right, she was radical."

"But you still learned from her. It shows."

"So, do you forgive me, then?"

"I wasn't angry."

"But you were shocked."

"A little." Rose paused, putting the baby against her shoulder and patting her back. "But not too shocked. Now that I think about it, I might have used some rather devious tricks myself, if I thought it would protect my child."

"Well, I think that the problem is solved, though I may wind up establishing an Anders factory here—maybe a textile mill. We've been expanding into that area."

"People would probably appreciate it, and it would give you more leverage. It might be a good area for it, too—plenty of potential employees, and easy access to the materials needed for production."

"Maybe. I'll look into it." He looked at Rose as she set Jane in her lap and buttoned her dress. "Are you almost done? I'd like to take you and Nadia out to dinner."

"Yes, I'm done." Rose carried Jane over to the dresser she had set up as a changing table. "Just let me change Jane, and we'll be on our way."

XXXXX

The rest of the visit passed uneventfully. Some people looked at them with anger and resentment, but few showed it openly, once word got around of who they were and the dean's story about Nadia's background was announced. Not everyone believed it, or cared, but enough people did to make it work.

Nadia showed them the university campus and the town, introducing them to her friends and to the young man she had been dating. John and Rose were pleased to meet Nadia's friends, but the introduction to her boyfriend was not so pleasant, since he had abandoned her when the scandal began, and then came back when he learned that her father was a wealthy businessman. Nadia had confronted him, and when he hadn't been swayed, and had kept trying to win her back, John had confronted him, warning him to stay away from his daughter. John's warning had finally convinced him to give up, knowing that he would get nowhere when Nadia's father was against him.

The Calverts stayed for a week, taking Nadia to visit some of the other towns in the area when she had time away from her classes, inviting her friends along. Her friends were very impressed, especially with her movie star stepmother, and one who was a theater arts major asked Rose if she might work for her motion picture company the following summer. Rose replied that if she wanted work, she would find something for her, as long as she could get to Cedar Rapids. She had no plans to expand or to film on location outside the Cedar Rapids area anytime soon.

Nadia accompanied them to the train station the day they left, skipping a class to do so. She knew that she couldn't afford to miss too many classes, especially after all the trouble she had taken to stay at the university, but she wanted to say good-bye. She would go to visit them at Thanksgiving, and they would undoubtedly come to see her again, but she was a little homesick, and would miss them.

"We'll see you at Thanksgiving, okay?" Rose told her, hugging her stepdaughter.

"Stay out of trouble, now," John added. "If you have anymore trouble with that dean—or with that boyfriend—just tell us and we'll help you out."

"I will." Nadia hugged them both. She had always been rather shy and quiet, but the events of the past few weeks, combined with living away from her parents, had allowed her inner strength to come out. She was more capable of taking care of herself now, and was truly growing up. She was still young, but she was at last putting her childhood behind her. "Don't let Jane forget me, and tell Christopher I'm thinking about him—and he'd better stay out of my room."

Rose laughed. Nadia was more mature than she had been when she left home, but some things didn't change.

The whistle blew, signaling the train's imminent departure, so John picked up their bags and started toward the train, Rose and Nadia walking beside him. As John and Rose boarded the train, Nadia hugged them again, then stood back, waving, as the train pulled away and soon made its way out of sight.


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Chapter Thirty**

_October 24, 1929_

"Cut!"

Rose pulled off the silver wig she wore for the small role she had cast herself in for her latest picture, an adaptation of _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_, where she was playing Aunt Sally to Christopher's Huck. Her son had become a skilled actor over the past few years, having inherited her talent and love of acting. He had also developed some talent for art lately, which he used to help design and build sets. She was proud of the young man he was becoming, glad that he had inherited the best attributes of both of his parents. His presence in her pictures was a strong selling point as well, attracting the attention of young girls throughout the country.

Right now, though, things weren't going as smoothly as she wanted. Her son was one of the few people doing what he was supposed to do, and the rest of the cast—most of whom were older and presumably more mature than her sixteen-year-old son—were more concerned with things other than their acting. The crew wasn't much better, but at least they weren't on camera.

She turned to her assistant, Polly, tugging irritably at the cap she wore over her now-short red hair. "What now?"

"You're doing fine, and so is Christopher, but Rowena is drunk again and everyone else keeps forgetting what they're supposed to do and turning to look at that damned stock ticker."

Rose sighed. She had been so caught up in her role that she hadn't paid too much attention to exactly what the others were doing. Since everyone else was just in the background at the moment, and the main part of the scene revolved around herself and Christopher, she had paid attention to her own work, not to everyone else's.

Setting the wig back on her head, Rose whistled loudly to get everyone's attention. People jumped, startled, and then gathered around her, some looking a little bit guilty. A few continued to stare at the ticker, worry evident in their faces, and Rowena took another swig from her soda pop bottle, which, Rose suspected, contained more liquor than soda.

Motioning Polly to her side, Rose turned to face the cast. "What is wrong with all of you?" she asked, staring at each of the cast members in turn.

Rowena took another gulp from her bottle, prompting Rose to take it from her. As she had suspected, it smelled strongly of bootleg liquor. "See me after filming," she hissed at her, flinging the nearly-empty bottle into a garbage can.

Rowena scowled at her and stomped off, not replying. Rose had already warned her about being drunk on the set, and wouldn't tolerate it this time.

Rose sighed, fearing that she would have to recast the slave girl role Rowena had been playing. She had already incurred the wrath of a number of people by casting Negro actors in the roles of the Negro characters—people that she had had to travel to find, since there were so few Negroes in Cedar Rapids, and only one of them had the skills required for film-acting. Some people had asked her why she didn't simply use white actors in blackface, but Rose's reply was always the same—she preferred to make her films appear as realistic as possible, and blackface wasn't realistic. In addition, those actors that she had considered to perform the roles in blackface had invariably adopted a buffoon act for their characters, something that did not match Rose's interpretation of the story. The characters in the book had been satirized, to be sure, but only some had been buffoons—and those had been characters of either race, Negro or white.

She looked at the rest of the cast, a number of whom where still sneaking glances at the ticker. "Look, everyone," Rose began. "I cast you to act in a movie set before the Civil War. There were no tickers then. This concern over finances is all well and good—but not when you're supposed to be working on something else. You are here to act, not to watch that stupid ticker. You're making me sorry I had it installed."

One of the actors, who was playing the con man known as the Duke, shook his head. "The market has been falling precipitously. People can't help but be concerned. Some of us have a lot of money tied up in stocks."

Rose sighed. "I understand that. Really I do. I have some investments there, too—but it isn't going to help your financial situation any to lollygag while there's work to be done. We have to work together to make this picture—and if need be, I'll remove that ticker to make you stop looking at it. Does everyone understand?" She looked around the assembled group, looking each of the guilty cast members in the eye.

The man playing Jim, the runaway slave, spoke up. "I don't have any money invested in the market—I didn't have enough until I got this job—but my brother up in New York does. He doesn't have much more than me, but he doesn't have any kids, so he put some in. If he loses everything, I might wind up with him and his screeching wife living with me, so I'm hoping that it doesn't collapse. I like my brother fine, but his wife…" He shook his head, not saying more.

The woman playing Miss Watson spoke up. "I don't think we really need to worry. The government will bail us out, I'm sure."

A young woman playing a slave shook her head. "I've never seen the government do much good for disasters. I'll bet they have money in the stock market, too. Whatever they do will probably make it worse."

"You have no call to criticize the government that way!"

"Why not? I wasn't even allowed to vote, even though I am twenty-one."

"A good thing, too, with your attitude."

"That's enough!" Rose shouted, startling the two women out of their debate. "We are here to make a movie, not to fight over politics. Do that on your own time. Now, everyone take a fifteen minute break. Someone give Rowena some coffee and see if you can sober her up. When you come back, I want you in character, ready to act. No looking at the ticker, no catfights over politics, and no liquor. Is everyone clear on this?"

A few people grumbled, but most agreed, dispersing for their break. One of the camera assistants poured some coffee for Rowena, who was sitting sullenly on one of the set pieces, glaring at Rose.

Rose approached the young actress, keeping her distance in case the drunken girl decided to lash out. "Rowena, what's going on? I've spoken to you before about being drunk on the set."

Rowena just looked at her sullenly, not touching her coffee. "I don't have to tell you anything."

"You don't have to be in this picture, either." Rose stared back at her. "This is the third time this has happened. I'll let you finish this picture, since your role is small, but you won't be working for me again unless you get sober and stay that way."

"It's your fault."

"Excuse me?"

"It's your fault. Nobody'll give me a break. I thought you were different."

"Rowena, there aren't any large roles for women in this picture. I have a small role, too."

"You're already a big star. I'm not getting anywhere."

"Neither are most people in this business. Face it, Rowena, we all have to pay our dues, and most actors will never make it big. My stepdaughter is in this business, too, in Hollywood, and she works just as hard as anyone else. You have the potential to make it big…"

"Negroes never make it big."

"Not often, at least not now, but who knows what the future will hold? Things are always changing."

"Yeah…when I'm old and gray."

Rose sighed, crossing her arms and staring at the young woman. "You're talented and beautiful—two very important traits in this business. But that drinking will keep you down more than any prejudice. You're only harming yourself. To top it off, liquor is illegal in this country, even if it is readily available if you know where to look."

Polly approached them, bullhorn in hand. Rowena turned her sullen gaze to the assistant director.

"She can't act worth a damn, but you gave her a directing job."

"Acting and directing are not the same thing. Do you want to try it?" Rose offered. "I'd be glad for your input if you would."

"I want to be an actress," Rowena snapped, finally taking a sip of the coffee.

"Then act. But don't blame other people for a problem that is yours alone. I don't make you drink, and even if you can't give up your liquor, you can refrain from being drunk on the set."

"I can stop anytime."

"Then do so, or I won't work with you—and chances are, neither will anyone else, once they find out."

"Are you gonna tell them?"

"Probably not. I don't need to. You're quite capable of showing them that yourself."

Rowena scowled at her, recognizing the truth of her words but not wanting to accept them. She took a gulp of coffee, getting up and walking unsteadily away. Rose and Polly watched her go, Rose shaking her head.

"Are you going to recast her role?" Polly asked, walking beside Rose as they returned to the director's chairs.

Rose shook her head. "No. Her part is a small one, and I don't have time to go looking for another actress. I'm going to offer contracts to most of the people who came to be in this picture, since most are reliable enough and are good actors. I have a small child at home, so I don't want to travel too much looking for actors. If I can hire some people permanently, it will make it much easier."

"Are you going to offer Rowena one?"

"No. She's proven herself unreliable. If she were to give up the drinking, and stay sober, I might consider it. As it is, she has talent and beauty, but she's sullen, hard to work with, and much too fond of her bootleg liquor."

"It can be hard to quit, though. God knows, my father tried to quit more than once, usually after Mama threw him out, but he never could stay away from his whiskey for long."

"I know, but every person is different. Some can stop, and if Rowena is one of them, she's welcome to try acting here again."

"You're a really kind person, Rose. Not many would give her such a chance."

"A long time ago, people took a chance on me, a widow with a young son. How can I not give other people a chance, if I think they might succeed?"

Polly nodded, knowing that she would never have achieved her position without Rose. She had left her home in a small Vermont town when she was fifteen, three years before, heading for Hollywood with three dollars to her name, hoping to make it as a movie star.

It hadn't happened. No matter how hard she worked, who she met, or how many auditions she attended, she could never get any role outside of an extra in a crowd scene. Part of it was her appearance—she was large-boned and heavy-set, not matching the Hollywood standard of beauty no matter how hard she tried. This might not have precluded her acting in smaller parts, minor roles, but she was nearly devoid of acting talent, and had no training at all. There was no dearth of girls in her position—would-be starlets from all over the country, and even from foreign countries, so she had been unable to compete. Standard beauty might have helped, since many an audience overlooked lack of talent to admire a pretty face, and training might have helped her get by, but she had neither, and hadn't the money to pay for training or beauty aids in any case.

Polly had met Mary Calvert on the set of a motion picture where Mary had a small role. The two had gotten to talking, and soon became friends. That summer, Mary had come home to Cedar Rapids for a couple of weeks, and Polly had joined her, hoping that Mary's stepmother would be able to help her.

Rose had shaken her head helplessly at Polly's attempts at acting. She had garnered some experience as a drama teacher with the local schools, assisting with school plays and talking to the students about her career, but Polly Markman was beyond her skills. An experienced teacher might have been able to help—but Rose doubted it. Polly froze up, her voice turning to a monotone when confronted with a script, and she was too stiff and shy to act well in non-speaking roles.

She had given Polly her opinion, suggesting that she try some other way of making a living, much to the eighteen-year-old's disappointment. She had finally relented enough, however, to allow Polly and Mary to watch her filming the first scenes of the Huckleberry Finn movie, and that was when Polly had displayed a talent that none of them had considered before—directing.

Polly had watched Rose directing the actors with interest, and before she had considered that her opinion might not be welcome, had volunteered her thoughts on the scene. Rose had been intrigued, and, on impulse, she had allowed Polly to direct a scene, to see what she could do.

Polly may not have been able to act, but she had a definite talent for directing. Rose had allowed her to help until it was time for Polly and Mary to return to Hollywood, and then had offered Polly a directing internship, so that she could develop her talents. Polly had accepted, and had been Rose's assistant since.

Polly picked up the script, looking it over as the actors reassembled to try filming the scene again. Some still glanced at the ticker, worrying over their investments, but a sharp word from Rose sent them hurrying to their places. Polly looked over the equipment, and, satisfied that everything was ready, looked to Rose.

Rose nodded, taking her place on the set again, as Polly signaled the crew. "Action!" she called, and the filming of the scene began once again.


	31. Chapter Thirty One

**Chapter Thirty-One**

Rose walked tiredly through the door, shedding her coat and hat as she walked. It had been a long day. Between Rowena's drunken temper, the cast's concern over the falling stock market, and Polly's pleas to be given a small role in the movie, she had had enough, and was glad to be finished with the day's filming and be home.

The scent of one of her favorite dishes, harvest chicken, filled the air, and Rose was glad that she had finally broken down and consented to hire a part-time cook for those days when she was extraordinarily busy. This was one of those evenings when she didn't want to cook or clean, but only wanted to relax and put her feet up.

Christopher stuck his head out of the library, where he was ostensibly studying. She had let him skip school today for filming, but only after he had agreed to study harder to make up for what he was missing. "Hi, Mom. You better go upstairs—Jane got her hands on a broken pen and got covered with ink, and Uncle John came home early, looking real upset, and didn't say anything to me. He just went into his study and shut the door."

Rose sighed. "Thank you, Christopher. I'll go see to them." She looked at the books scattered on the table near the door. "Have you finished your homework yet?"

"Almost." Christopher looked away, trying to avoid the issue of homework. It definitely was not among his favorite activities. "Oh, and there's letters from Mary and Nadia. I didn't open them, since they weren't addressed to me."

"Good." Rose reached up and ruffled her tall, lanky son's hair, earning a scowl from him. "Let me know when supper is ready, all right?"

"Sure, Mom." Christopher hurried back into the library, relieved that she hadn't asked to see his homework, which he had barely started on. He found other activities much more interesting, but his mother insisted that he do his best in school.

Rose made her way upstairs, stopping first in the nursery, where Jane played contentedly with a pile of blocks under the supervision of her baby-sitter, Melanie. There were ink stains on her hands and face.

"Mrs. Calvert," the young woman greeted her. She looked nervously at the small child, who had abandoned the blocks and was toddling towards her mother.

Rose scooped up the toddler, looking at the scrubbed but still visible blue stains on the little girl's skin. "Jane, what have you been into?"

Jane just giggled and hid her face in her mother's shoulder. Melanie shifted from foot to foot, looking nervous.

"She found a pen, ma'am," she explained. "She was just looking at it, so I didn't think there was any harm, but she managed to open it and break it somehow. The ink really doesn't want to come off."

"Never underestimate the abilities of a small child." Rose had raised enough small children to know that they were capable of much more than they appeared. "Has she been ill?"

"No, just dirty. Her clothes will never be the same." She held up the ink-stained dress that the child had been wearing.

Rose took it, grimacing. "Well…I suppose she can still wear it to play in the yard, especially when it's muddy. No use in wasting it." Even though there was plenty of money to buy new clothes now, Rose had lived in poverty long enough to abhor waste.

"I'm sorry about that. I'll pay for it, if you want. I should have been watching her more closely."

Rose shook her head. "Don't worry about it, Melanie. She needs something to wear that won't get ruined, anyway." She paused, setting Jane down. "I suppose we'll just have to see her looking like a clown until the ink wears off."

"Try lemon juice. It's what my mother uses to lighten freckles. Maybe it will lighten that ink, too."

"It's worth a try. Jane, what am I going to do with you?"

"Feed." Jane wrapped her arms around Rose's legs.

"Oh, you're hungry, are you? Well, supper will be ready soon. Why don't we go see your daddy?"

"Kay." Jane clung to Rose's skirt until she picked her up and placed her on her shoulders.

"I will see you tomorrow, Melanie," Rose told the still-nervous baby-sitter. "Don't worry about the mess. Little kids will do this sort of thing. Jane is the fourth one I've raised, so I think I've seen about everything they can do." She thought for a moment, then added, "Though I'm sure there'll be some surprises yet to come."

"I'm sure, Mrs. Calvert. There's seven of us in my family, and we still surprise Mama."

Rose laughed. "Then Jane's behavior is nothing to surprise you. Don't worry. She'll grow out of it eventually." She walked Melanie to the top of the stairs, still carrying Jane on her shoulders.

When Melanie had gone downstairs and out the front door, Rose went back down the hall, stopping at the door to John's study. Remembering what Christopher had said, she knocked cautiously, not sure what was going on.

"John? Can I come in? It's Rose."

There was silence for a moment, and then John called out to her. "Come in, Rose."

Rose opened the door and came inside, her eyes widening at the account books and papers scattered around the usually neat room. "John, what's going on?"

John had been perusing two account books, making notes on a pad of paper. He glanced at the books again, then looked up at Rose.

"I'm sure you're aware of what's been going on with the stock market."

Rose nodded, sinking into a chair and setting Jane in her lap. "Of course. I could hardly get a performance out of my cast today. All they cared about was watching the ticker."

"Things are bad. Really bad."

"I know. The market is plunging."

"And after all this time, when it was a bull market—a strong bull market—a lot of money is being lost." He looked at the books again.

Rose got to her feet, going to look at the books herself. "Exactly how much money did you invest in the stock market?" she asked, her eyes widening in comprehension. John knew about business and finance, but the lure of high profits on the stock market had sucked a lot of people in.

John looked at the books again, taking Jane from her. "Too much," he replied, absently setting the ink-stained child in his lap.

"How much is too much?" Rose knew a fair amount about money, too, but she hadn't invested nearly as much in the stock market as some people had. Experience had taught her that being too sure of anything was a quick way to lose out, so her investments were diversified.

He sighed. "Let's just say that about fifty percent of what I have is on paper only—and if things continue as they are, it won't be worth much at all, if anything."

"Fifty percent!" Rose stared at him, her mind going over the implications. "We should be all right, though—shouldn't we?"

"I hope so, although all this…" He gestured to their luxuriant surroundings. "…all this may become too much to afford."

Rose shook her head. "Even if it comes to that, we should be all right. We don't have to live so grandly. Don't get me wrong, having so much is nice, but it isn't necessary."

"That's just the start of it. Anders' stock has been dropping steadily—and you know how that will affect production and profits. I don't want to have to lay off anyone—but it may come to that."

"Let's not worry about that yet. The market may yet go back up. After all, isn't some drop in prices normal?"

"Some—but not like this. This is more like a panic."

Rose nodded. She wasn't as involved in business and finance as John was, but she did know some things—and she knew that the situation was bad.

"How much did you invest?" John wanted to know.

"Not nearly as much as you—maybe five percent of my extra money. Everything looked so good, it made me suspicious. You know how I was raised—all the glitter overlying some serious problems underneath. I was suspicious of the market, and I guess I was right."

"What else have you invested in?"

"Bonds, foreign currency, some real estate—and, of course, Blue Rose, which is doing very well, in spite of anxiety-ridden cast members."

"Other things may suffer, too, you know."

"I know, but…let's not dwell on it. We can't really do anything about the economy as a whole—I don't think anyone has that much power—but we can take care of ourselves. We'll be all right, whatever happens. After all, we survived the Titanic and raised children in the slums of New York City. Whatever happens, we'll get through it."

Jane began to fuss, sensing her parents' worry. John put her to his shoulder and rocked her, thinking about what Rose had said.

"I hope you're right, Rose. I really hope you're right."


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

_November 5, 1929_

"Rose! Rose, I need to talk to you," Ruth hissed, coming up behind her daughter as she was leaving the studio for the day.

Rose jumped, startled, then whirled around the face her mother. "Mother! Don't do that! I thought you were some crazed fan or something, sneaking up behind me like that."

"I'm sorry, Rose, but I really must speak with you."

"About what?" Rose eyed her mother slyly. "You haven't changed your mind about becoming an actress, have you?"

Ruth shook her head. "Really, Rose, I wish you would stop talking about that. You know how I feel about the acting profession."

Rose sighed. "All right, Mother. What do you want, then?"

"Have you seen the paper yet today?"

"No. I don't usually have a chance to read it until I come home. Why?"

"I thought I'd warn you before you read about it…"

"About what?"

"About the article I came across in the paper this morning. It's about Cal."

Rose gave her mother a startled look. Ruth rarely mentioned Cal, and Rose didn't think about him much. He was in the past, a part of her life that no longer mattered much. So Ruth's sudden concern over Cal, and what Rose would think of a newspaper article about him, surprised and disturbed her.

"What happened, Mother?" She suspected that Ruth had held more affection for Cal than she herself had, even if Ruth had rarely mentioned him in Rose's presence after they were reunited a few years earlier.

"He's dead, Rose."

"What?"

"He's dead. A suicide."

"A suicide?" Rose's eyes widened. She had always known that Cal was arrogant and mostly interested in himself, but she had never thought that he would commit suicide. "Are you sure?"

"That's what the paper says. Apparently, he was despondent over his losses in the stock market crash."

"But to commit suicide over something like that…" And yet, Rose wasn't as surprised as she might have been. Cal wasn't the first tycoon to commit suicide over the stock market crash, and probably not the last, either. His overwhelming self-interest had at last caught up to him.

"Mother, I'm going to go home and read the article for myself." Rose stepped along the frozen ground, making her way towards her car. She turned suddenly, facing Ruth. "Mother, how are you doing? I know that you once planned upon having Cal for a son-in-law…this must be very shocking."

"It is, Rose, although I can't say that I'm entirely surprised. He put so much emphasis on money—even more than I once did."

Rose nodded, remembering Cal's attitude about money and status when they had been engaged seventeen years before. He had cared about it more than anything—even more than Ruth had, if only a little.

She was surprised to feel a pang of sadness. She hadn't liked Cal, to be sure—but he had been her fiancé long ago. Had her circumstances not changed, she might well be his widow now. She pitied him for being so focused upon money that he had been willing to give up his life rather than live without it, and she pitied his family, who must have depended upon him, perhaps even loved him.

And yet, at the same time, she felt a sense of relief. She had never really trusted him, and had always wondered if one day he might focus his attention upon her again, destroying the life she had built. Now, she could be sure that would never happen.

XXXXX

In the rush of supper and seeing to her children, Rose didn't have a chance to look at the newspaper until shortly before she lay down for the night. She skimmed the articles until she found the one she wanted, buried near the back of the national news. Suicides of wealthy people were common enough these days that it wasn't a major shock or scandal, but simply another symbol of a way of life that had abruptly vanished.

Steeling herself, Rose read the article, shaking her head in amazement. Cal was only one in a series of tycoons to have committed suicide over losing their fortunes, and the thought saddened her. How shallow and lonely their lives must have been to have made money the only thing that they lived for. Did these people not have families who cared for them, or friends, or aspects to their lives that centered around something other than money?

She had lost a little money in the crash, and John had lost a great deal, but neither of them were ready to kill themselves over it. Misfortune happened; it was a fact of life, and all they could do was pick up what remained and continue on with life. Perhaps, she considered, it was because they had lived without wealth that they were able to bear its loss. They knew that life went on, with or without money, and they had children to feed and educate and businesses to run. Even without those things, they still would have had themselves, and each other. Their lives were worth so much more than the sum total of their possessions.

Rose looked up as John came into the library and sat down beside her. He had noticed her quiet, pensive mood at supper and thought he knew the reason for it—he had read the article, too.

"What's going on?" he asked her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "You seemed sad tonight."

Rose debated whether or not to tell him, then showed him the article. "It was about this. Mother told me before I read the article."

"Your ex-fiancé."

Rose nodded. "Yes." They hadn't talked much about Rose's past, and the time before the Titanic sank, but John knew that she had once been Rose DeWitt Bukater—and that she had been engaged to Caledon Hockley.

John hadn't been particularly fond of Hockley, in spite of having never met him in person. He had once been a suitor of Miriam's—a relationship that had ended scandalously, resulting in Miriam's trip to Europe, where she had eventually met and married John in England.

Had that been his only connection to the man, John probably would not have given him much thought, but Hockley had also used Mary to get into a lifeboat when the Titanic was sinking—and then had abandoned her, almost drowning the young child.

Rose leaned her head against John's shoulder. "It's strange to be sad about him. I didn't like him, let alone love him, and I couldn't wait to get away from him—but he was my fiancé, and I guess you can't just push people in and out of your life without being affected by them in some way. I'm not sorry I left him behind, but I can't just forget him, either."

John frowned, not sure what to say. Rose's words made sense, even if he didn't like them much.

"Do you want to go to his funeral?"

She shook her head. "No. He hasn't been a part of my life since the Titanic sank seventeen years ago. I am not a part of his society now, nor would I want to be again. I left all that behind because I wasn't happy. It was too…self-satisfied, too self-interested, too concerned with small things that don't make a bit of difference in the long run. All the constant talk of money and status, as though those were the only things that mattered in life. It was so narrow, so mindless…I left without a backward glance, once I knew that I could, and I've never been sorry."

She folded the newspaper and set it aside, getting to her feet. "These are some hard times; I won't deny it. But there's so much more to live for than money or status. The bad times don't last forever, no matter how much it seems that they do. Things do get better, one way or another. And real friends don't care how much money you have—they'll be at your side whatever happens. I pity him, John. I pity the shallowness of his life, and of his society—that something like this could be worth killing oneself over, because they don't have anything else to live for."

John looked at the article, tossing the paper aside when he was done. "I've lost a lot of money, but it's never crossed my mind to end my life because of it. You're right; there's much more to life than money or status. There's the people around you—your family, your friends, even your employees—and the joys of everyday life. I don't like poverty, and I've spent enough time living that way to know what it's like. I don't like it—but if it happened again, I would get through it. We might have to sell the house and the expensive things we've collected—but those could be replaced, when times are better. And as long as there was enough, I probably wouldn't really miss those things after a while."

"Nor would I." Rose looked up at John as they walked out of the library and towards the stairs. "I never cared much for those things, even when I was a member of high society. I was surrounded by luxury, but I was often unhappy, and all the things I had couldn't make me happier. You know, the only possessions I had on the Titanic that I was really sorry to lose were some inexpensive paintings I had bought in France, some Picassos. I liked them because they meant something to me, symbolized what I felt—truth but no logic, as I told my maid. Life was pretty and glittery on the outside, but underneath, there wasn't much substance."

"Are you happy now, Rose?" John asked. "You're surrounded by luxury again, even if we might not be able to keep what we have."

"Of course I am, John!" Rose linked her arm with his. "It was never the wealth itself that meant much to me, one way or the other. It was how people saw it that bothered me—as if it were the most important thing in the world. At that time, it was important to me to get away from it, because there was so much emphasis on it. Now…these things are nice to have, but they aren't the most important things to you or I. If all of this was suddenly to disappear, I would still be richer than Cal ever was…because I have the important things in life. I have you, Christopher and Jane, Mary and Nadia, Mother—and all of you mean more to me than any amount of money ever could."


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

_April 18, 1930_

Rose looked around the house that had been her home for the last three years, remembering everything that had happened there, doubting that she would ever be back.

As the extent of John's financial losses had become apparent, they had known that they would have to make some changes. Anders' stock had tumbled, although the company was still solvent, and profits had dropped sharply. John had been faced with the choice of maintaining his lifestyle and letting three-fourths of Anders Cedar Rapids workers go, or changing to a simpler lifestyle and laying off only a fourth of the workers.

Rose was sorry to leave the house that had become her home, but she was proud of John for putting the workers ahead of his own comfort. He had accepted an enormous pay cut, so much that they could no longer afford the house they had lived in. Rose still had a great deal of money, but with the economy so bad, there was no telling how solid her finances would remain, and John had refused to take what she had worked so hard to earn from her, though as her husband, he could legally have done so.

They had sold the house in March, getting less for it than they had hoped, but times were hard everywhere. It had been enough to buy a smaller house in town, and still have enough left to finish paying Nadia's college tuition. With Nadia doing so well in college, John didn't want her to have to drop out and come home for lack of money, and the economy was even worse in the small Mississippi town than it was in Cedar Rapids. There were virtually no jobs available, especially for a young woman whose background was still questioned by some.

Rose had lost some money when a bank in Los Angeles that she had kept a portion of it in had gone under, but she had hurried to get the rest of her money from the bank in Cedar Rapids, hiding it against theft in various places around their new home. Many of her investments were still good, and not likely to disappear, especially the real estate and government bonds. Her investments in foreign currency hadn't worked out so well, but she kept what she had, in hopes that one day it would be worth something again.

Blue Rose was still doing well, in spite of the bad turn the economy had taken. Many people, looking desperately for something to take their minds off of their troubles, flocked to the movies, immersing themselves in a fantasy world for a couple of hours. Rose had begun directing and producing comedies, which people seemed especially fond of, as well as more romantic films with happy endings. She had allowed Polly to direct a couple of films herself, and had taken advantage of people's increased interest in the movies to expand the number of films she made.

Rose still took starring or supporting roles in many of them, and had made a point of training and hiring a number of displaced workers for her films, giving them jobs, however temporary those jobs might be. She also hired as many local people as she could for crowd scenes, knowing that hers was one of the few area businesses doing well, one of the few that could afford to hire anyone.

And still things were shaky. She couldn't pay people as much as she once had—not unless she wanted to risk having Blue Rose go under, too. There weren't enough jobs or film roles for all the people who wanted them, even in a small town, and the continuing success of her film company attracted people from out of town as well. Mary had come to visit at Christmas, bringing several of her less successful friends with her, but Rose had just shaken her head. There were so many people in need, and so little she could do, even if she was better off than many.

Mary, at least, was doing well. She had signed a five-year contract with one of the major studios before the stock market had crashed, and thus had a secure job, even if the film roles weren't always to her liking. She was not yet a star, although she often found herself in supporting roles as a sidekick to the star—a younger sister, a best friend, whatever was needed. She had the ability to look and act much younger than she was, and a talent for melodrama and comedy, which served her well in these hard times. She had done better than many young actresses, due in a large part to Rose's influence and her own previous experience on stage and in pictures for Blue Rose.

Rose had been less than pleased with another, more permanent visitor who had arrived shortly after the new year. Ruth had lost her job, and quickly lost her home as well, giving her no choice but to move in with her daughter and son-in-law. Much as Rose loved her mother, they didn't always get along, and Ruth's well-meaning advice nearly drove Rose to distraction on occasion. In some respects, she was glad to have her mother there—she had had to let Jane's sitter go, and Ruth had taken up the slack, watching the young child when her parents were away at work. Rose couldn't afford to pay her mother for the service, but since they were giving Ruth room and board, she didn't think her mother was making too much of a sacrifice.

Part of the problem with Ruth living with the Calverts was the fact that she and Rose were both used to running their own homes, even though Ruth had lived alone. Both felt that they should be in charge of the home they shared, and in the new, smaller house, conflicts were likely to become more frequent. Rose could only hope that Ruth would find a new job and a new home soon. She had even offered her a secretarial position with Blue Rose, but Ruth had refused it, still not approving of people who worked in the entertainment industry, even if it was behind the scenes.

Rose was drawn from her reverie as John walked up behind her, carrying a box containing the last of the things they were taking to their new home. Most of the excess furniture had been sold, along with paintings, knickknacks, and other things that they wouldn't have space for in the new house. A few things had been given to Mary or Nadia, or stored for use in the future, but most of the luxury items were gone. Rose had enjoyed having those things, but she wasn't heartbroken at their loss. They had been replaced by more practical items, and she still considered their standard of living to be quite comfortable, even if she would miss her old home.

"Are you ready to go, Rose?" John asked her, shifting the box in his arms.

She nodded, a bit sadly. "I guess so. I'm going to miss this place, though. This was where I was staying when we got engaged, where Jane was born, where we saw Mary and Nadia leave home from…"

"We'll make memories in our new house, too," John comforted her, walking beside her as she looked around one last time and headed for the front door.

"Yes…I suppose we will. I just hope the new owners don't go digging in the back anytime soon. They'll be in for a nasty surprise if they find where the kids buried Allegro and two of the cats."

John put the box into the backseat of the car, where the remaining cats whined miserably from carriers. "They will at that. At least there's nothing else buried out there for us to worry about. I moved all my money to the new house."

Rose nodded. "So did I. If the new owners can afford this place, then they certainly don't need our money, sparse as it is these days."

"I think we'll be all right. We're still solvent, anyway, not in debt. Mary is making her own living, and Christopher can probably get work, if any is available."

"And he's a good actor," Rose added. "He can work for me."

"Let's just hope that Blue Rose keeps going as it has been." John started the car and pulled away from the house, heading for town.

"I hope so, too. If people keep watching movies like they have been, it will. But I can't be sure. Anything's possible."

"This depression could end tomorrow," John agreed. "Or it could go on for another ten years. We just have to do what we can."

"Yes." Rose was silent for a moment, lost in thought. "John…do you think that Anders Cedar Rapids will pull through?"

He sighed. "I really don't know, Rose. I took a major pay cut to keep it going, but I may have to lay off more workers. I don't want to, but it may come to that. I'll do what I can to keep it solvent, but…times are tough."

"If it comes to the point where you think you might have to shut down and sell out, John, I want you to tell me. I do have a fair amount of money, and Blue Rose is doing well. I could invest in Anders Cedar Rapids to keep it going."

"I can't ask that of you."

"Why not? I have the money—as long as we don't have stagflation, and there's been no sign of it so far. In fact, prices have dropped, because it's the only way to sell things."

"I know, but Rose…you may need to keep your money. I don't want to take it from you, but if we need it to keep a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs, it may have to go to that."

"I think I'll be all right, John. Anders Cedar Rapids is still going, even if it's not going as well as could be hoped, Blue Rose is doing well, and I have some investments that I could make more money from, if I could find the right people. Real estate and such, property that could be rented out."

_And I have the Heart of the Ocean_, she thought, but didn't say it. With Cal gone, there was no longer any danger in selling it, but she still felt a sentimental attachment to the gaudy necklace—it reminded her of Jack. She had never mentioned it to anyone, but if worse came worst, she would sell it. Supporting her family was more important than hanging onto a symbol of memories that were burned in her mind and heart.

"I still don't like the idea of taking what you've worked so hard to earn."

"John, I respect you for letting me keep what I have and not appropriating it for yourself, as many husbands would. Heaven knows, you might have invested all of it in the stock market, and then we'd really be up a creek."

"I suppose I did trust those investments a little too much."

"Yes, but I'm assuming you've learned something from that now."

"Like that old saying—don't put all your eggs in one basket."

"Maybe next time you invest, you should ask my advice. I've done pretty well."

"Mostly. Although…you did invest a little in the stock market, and then there was that investment in German marks…"

"All right, so I wasn't always wise. But I still have more than many people do."

John pulled up to the new house, honking the horn to alert Christopher to their presence. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel for a moment, thinking over what Rose had said.

At last, he sighed, sitting up and motioning to Christopher to fetch the cat carriers. "I still don't like the idea, Rose, but if it comes to that, I won't object to you investing in Anders Cedar Rapids. It might not even do any good, but if you want to try…"

"I will, if necessary. I hope I don't have to—we might need that money for ourselves—but the company is important to you, and to this town, and because of that, it's important to me, too."


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

_June 12, 1930_

Rose knelt in the vegetable garden behind the house, wiping the sweat from her forehead with one dirt-covered hand, unmindful of the streak it left on her face. Summer was rapidly approaching, the heat increasing each day, and she was grateful for the brief respite from acting and directing that she had given herself. She had finished the last picture—a short comedy about a magical dog—two days before, and wasn't going to start on her next picture until July first, giving her a break from work.

Pulling up one last weed and tossing it into the bucket for the compost heap, Rose got to her feet, seeking the shade of an old oak tree some distance from the garden. Jane raced over to her, oblivious to the heat, a handful of bright yellow dandelions clutched in one fist.

Rose smiled as the little girl rushed up to her, picking her up and accepting the proffered flowers. Never mind that dandelions were weeds—the two-year-old thought the bright yellow color was pretty, and picked them whenever she could. As the toddler grinned and held onto her mother's shoulders, Rose picked up the bucket and took it to the compost bin, dumping it in.

"Rose! Jane! Lunch is ready!" Ruth's voice sounded from the house.

Setting the toddler down, Rose watched her run across the lawn to the open back door, grinning happily at the thought of eating. Mealtimes were Jane's favorite parts of the day. Following more slowly, Rose picked up the trowel and hoe and set them on the porch with the weed bucket, turning to look proudly at her garden. It wasn't as large as the one they'd at the old house, but this one was all hers, and she was pleased with it.

Jane was already in her high chair, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, when Rose walked in. Signaling to her mother that she would be at the table in a moment, she hurried to wash her hands, examining herself critically in the mirror as she did so. Her face was slightly flushed from the heat, but she saw nothing else to indicate that something might be wrong.

Drying her hands, Rose thought back over the past few weeks since they had moved into the new house, convinced now that the symptoms she had begun experiencing soon after they arrived had nothing to do with illness. Fatigue, morning nausea that sometimes lasted longer, cessation of her monthlies…all could be attributed to a number of causes, but together they were familiar to her. Sometime within the following months, she was almost certain, another baby would join the Calvert family.

Turning from the mirror, she brushed her now-collarbone-length hair from her eyes and hurried to join her mother and daughter in the kitchen. John was at work, holding the now-stable company together, its future still uncertain in light of the continuing economic turmoil. Christopher was at school, finishing the last few days before vacation, thinking longingly of the freedom of summer.

Rose picked at her lunch, her appetite still small after her earlier bout with morning sickness. What would John say about her having another baby, if indeed there was one? She was fairly certain that there was, but she would have to visit the doctor first to be sure.

Would he want another child now, with their circumstances and future so uncertain? They were doing all right, for the time being, but having another child would necessitate Rose taking some time off from her work, and if something went wrong at Anders Cedar Rapids, they could be in trouble indeed.

Granted, they were much better off than many families with young children—they were together, and they were employed. Even Christopher would have work in the summer, working for Blue Rose with his mother. But Nadia was still in college, unable to find a job in her town, Christopher could only work for a short time before he went back to school, and Jane was only two years old, not yet able to work at all and constantly in need of food and clothing. Then there was Ruth, who had not yet found another job and who refused to work for her daughter, instead pleading with John for a job he couldn't offer her.

Ruth looked up as Rose sighed, frowning at the sight of her daughter picking unhungrily at the lunch she had prepared. "What's wrong, Rose?"

Rose shrugged, unable to share her suspicions with her mother just yet. If she was indeed having another baby, Ruth would be thrilled, but Rose wasn't completely sure that her suspicions were correct, and she didn't want to get her mother's hopes up—or have her spread the word—before she was sure.

"Nothing. I'm fine. Really."

Ruth looked at her daughter suspiciously, then smiled as she watched Rose pushing her food around on her plate. "You're in a family way again, aren't you?"

"Mother!" Rose exploded, then pushed her plate away, knowing that her reaction had just confirmed her mother's suspicions. "I don't know. Maybe."

"You take naps when your daughter does, refuse to eat in the morning, and you're developing a bulge in your middle. It looks pretty sure to me."

Rose's mouth dropped open as she stared at her mother, blushing. "Mother, any number of things could make me tired and ill, and the bulge in my middle is fat!"

"Fat? With the way you eat, Rose? I think I'm going to be a grandmother again."

"Mother, please. I think I might be expecting again, but I have to go to the doctor to confirm it. I have an appointment this afternoon, so I'll need you to watch Jane. But whatever I find out, don't tell John. If there's anything to tell him, I'll do it."

"You're worried about his reaction, aren't you? Rose, from what you've told me, he comes from a good-sized family in London's East End, and you all lived in the slums in New York after getting off the Carpathia. Surely the both of you know how to economize and make the best of things."

Rose crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. "Yes, Mother, we do, but there are some things we don't want to have to sacrifice, like Nadia's college education, or Christopher's, when he finishes high school."

"Things may be better by then, and don't you have most of your money saved away?"

"Most of it, yes. But if this economic depression goes on for too long, we may need it just to survive. You know as well as I do how hard times are out there."

"I imagine you'll survive. After all, you're a movie star, even if you aren't so famous as you were a few years ago. Someone will always give you work, even if you have to beg for Mary's help. And if Nadia has to leave college, she can always go back later. There are schools that cater to older students, I am given to understand. I thought of enrolling in one myself after you disappeared, but I didn't have the money. Your own husband went to college at a much later age than most. The same thing goes for Christopher. You'll survive, whatever happens."

Rose stared at Ruth, acknowledging the truth of her words but unable to believe who she was hearing it from. "This from the woman who tried to marry me off to a wealthy man to improve her own fortunes."

She regretted her words as soon as she said them, but Ruth did not appear angry. "That was a long time ago, Rose. I've changed since then. I'll admit that I still prefer luxury, but I won't ruin your life to get it. Besides, you're much better off with John than you would have been with Cal—he's still alive and still solvent."

"Mother!" Rose sighed, tossing her napkin on the table. "It's not wealth that I care about. It never was. I don't care whether I live in a mansion or a shack, or anything in between. But I do care about having a roof over my children's heads, and food and clothing for them. I don't want to make sacrifices at their expense."

"And that's why the idea of having another baby upsets you, isn't it? You're afraid that it will tip the balance the wrong way, allowing your children to suffer." Ruth paused, pushing away her now-empty plate. "Rose, I don't know if you remember, but even when you were a little girl you liked to figure out how things worked, how to make one object useful for something else. There you were, in the lap of luxury, with everything a child could want, but if you couldn't find something, or didn't have it, you would make do with something else. It aggravated me no end, but you never did outgrow it. You'll always be able to make do, whatever happens."

"I do remember, Mother, and I can take anything thrown at me in stride. I've lived hand-to-mouth many times in my adult life, and managed to keep the children going at the same time, but I've seen so many people who weren't so lucky—and there's even more of them now. So much unemployment, families on relief, long lines at soup kitchens—we can do it if we have to, but it's a hard life."

"There isn't much you can do if you are going to have another child. I know you, Rose. However much it might worry you, you'll make the best of it."

Rose didn't reply. There were things that a woman could do about an unwanted child, or one that she couldn't care for, but apparently Ruth didn't know about them. Besides, such things were illegal and very dangerous—after her years in Hollywood, she knew just how dangerous such things could be—but she doubted that she could bring herself to abort her own child. Each of her children was precious to her, whether they had been born to her or brought to her through her marriage to John, and if she was indeed expecting another, she would love and care for it as she had the others, no matter what their circumstances became.


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

Rose quietly let herself in the front door, wondering when John would be home. He often worked late these days, struggling to keep the company going. She wondered briefly if it might be a good idea for her to invest in the company's stock, low though it was, to help keep it solvent. John wasn't thrilled with the idea of her supporting him, even indirectly, but he wouldn't have to know. She could buy it in secret, under an assumed name—but if worse came to worst, and they needed the money she had saved, he would wonder where it had gone.

Shrugging to herself, Rose dismissed the idea. Buying stock in Anders Cedar Rapids, or even in Anders as a whole, was a risk, and she knew it. Money had never been terribly important to her, but she did like to have enough to keep her children fed, clothed, and sheltered, and that was more important than ever now.

The doctor had confirmed what she had suspected—she was going to have another baby. The thought of having another child pleased her, and she knew it would please her mother, but she wasn't sure what John would think. He loved each of his children, as well as Christopher, but times were hard, and another baby would be another mouth to feed. For now, it was all right—they had enough, and Rose's film company was doing well, in spite of the economic depression—but what if that changed? Would they be able to feed, clothe, and keep a roof over the heads of everyone?

Rose took a deep breath. She knew that something could be worked out, no matter what happened, but it might not be to their liking, or even for the best for everyone. They might wind up working in sweatshops, living in the slums again. They had done it before, and could do it again if they had to, but she didn't want to see it happen.

Still, she was expecting a baby, and there was no going back on that. There were ways to end the pregnancy, of course, and a child that could not be properly cared for could be given up to someone else, but Rose couldn't bring herself to even consider such options, and she doubted John would like them either. He was a good man, one who had taken in a strange child after the Titanic sinking when he had almost nothing to support himself and his own child with, and then taken in her and her expected child as well.

She sighed, placing a hand on her abdomen. Whatever happened, she would love her coming child, and do the best she could for it, as she had done for Christopher and for Jane.

XXXXX

Rose looked up from the script she was perusing when she heard the front door screen open and close, indicating that John was home. Steeling herself, she came out to greet him, a happy smile on her face in spite of her worries.

"Hello, John," she greeted him, giving him a hug and a kiss. "How was your day?"

"Better than usual," he told her, hugging her back. "Things finally seem to be stabilizing. I even hired two people."

"That's great!" Rose smiled, genuinely happy for him, and took his briefcase, setting it down in their room as he loosened his tie and changed his shoes.

"You look happy," he remarked. "What did you do all day?"

"Well…" Rose paused, debating whether to tell him about the baby right away, or talk about other things first. "The usual, mostly. I watched Jane, worked in the garden, and went over a script."

"Anything else?" John knew that Rose found those activities enjoyable, but she was smiling more broadly than usual.

"Well…I went to the doctor."

A look of concern crossed his face. "Are you all right?"

Rose nodded, beginning to feel a little nervous. "I'm fine, but…John, the doctor says we're going to be parents again, probably sometime in December."

"You're pregnant again?" John stared at her, not sure how to react. He loved children, but it wasn't the best time to bring another one into the world.

Rose nodded, sinking down on the bed. "I'm sorry, John. I know we've been…taking precautions, but those things don't always work."

"You're not sorry at all, Rose. If you were, you wouldn't have been smiling."

Rose winced at his harsh words. "No, I'm not sorry to be having another baby, but I am sorry that it's happened in such…precarious circumstances."

"It isn't the best time to have another child, I'll agree."

"But there's nothing to be done for it, now that it's on the way. Besides, we'll be all right, one way or another. You said yourself that things are better at Anders Cedar Rapids, and Blue Rose is doing well, and we do have some money saved…"

"I know, and if those things were sure to work, I would rest easy. But they aren't sure. You know how stagflation has taken its toll in other countries, especially Germany, and the market could get worse at any time. If people have to cut back more—forgive me for saying it, but they're more likely to cut back on the films you make than on the food Anders Cedar Rapids produces. People need food, but they can live without films, no matter how much they enjoy them."

Rose sighed. "I know, but nothing is ever sure. We've been doing our best to economize, just as we did when Mary and Nadia were young. I've even got the garden to lower the cost of food, and we only have the one car now, to save on the cost of fuel and maintenance. We have things that we can sell, too, if we have to. And if all else fails, we can take to the road, as so many others have done."

John rubbed his temples, then patted his pocket absently, making sure his glasses were still there. "I know, Rose, and I'll do the best I can…but I wish this had happened at a better time."

"Who knows when times will be better, John? It could be years. I could be too old to have a baby by then. I'm already thirty-five years old." She moved to stand beside him, looking out the window at the thriving vegetable garden below. "We'll make do, John, somehow. We just have to take things one day at a time. Maybe things will get better soon. There's no way of really knowing. Even the experts and the politicians can't agree on what's expected to happen."

"You're right, I know, but…hell, Rose, this isn't easy."

"No, but I know you. You love children, and you could never make our new one feel unwelcome, or push it out in the cold, if you can help it. You grew up in London's East End, you lived in New York's slums—you know as well as I do that there's ways of stretching what we have, for making things last, for making do. Christopher will be grown soon, and on his own—and I know that we can depend upon our grown children to help the family if needed, just as we would help them, because we raised them to not be selfish. Many larger families than ours make do with much less—even if they have to go on relief, stand in soup lines, and travel around looking for work. These aren't easy times, but they can't go on forever. Eventually, something will happen. It always does, and we'll live through it as we always have—one day at a time."

She looked out the window, where Christopher was playing with his little sister and Ruth was scolding both. Glancing back at John, she saw that his expression hadn't changed—it was still worried and uncertain. He wasn't at all sure that things would work out as well as his wife hoped, and Rose, in spite of her seeming optimism, couldn't blame him.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

_December 24, 1930_

Rose sat down in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, her arms wrapped around her enormous middle. The baby was due any time, and she couldn't wait.

Looking around the room, her eyes fell upon the Christmas tree in the corner. It was smaller than the trees they had had in past years, in order to save money, but at least they had one. Many families weren't so lucky. The presents under the tree were sparser than before, too, but there was something for everyone.

Rose stretched out her legs, enjoying the warmth of the fire. At least they were all together for the holiday. Mary was home for Christmas, and had surprised them by going to Mississippi first and convincing Nadia to come home with her. Nadia had decided to stay at the university for the holidays this year, to save her family the cost of bringing her home, but Mary's unexpected visit—her sister's first visit to the university—had changed her mind, especially when Mary had offered to cover the cost of the trip herself.

Mary was doing well as an actress, rising faster in her career than Rose had. While she was not yet a star, she was pretty and had a talent for comedy, something that attracted people to her movies in these hard times. Her studio had extended her contract, and although she had not yet been told, was considering giving her a starring role in an upcoming musical picture.

Nadia was doing well at the university. It was her third year, and she was concentrating on becoming a teacher. She had always been good with children, and wanted to pass on her knowledge and skills to them. While she was aware that teaching could be a difficult profession, it was one that she was well-suited for.

Christopher would be graduating from high school in June. It amazed her how fast the time had gone by. It seemed like only yesterday that she had cradled her newborn son in her arms, and now he was almost grown. In just a few weeks, he would be eighteen, and, although he had promised them that he would finish high school, after that he wanted to strike out on his own, just as his father had almost twenty-four years earlier. Christopher had never been told much about Jack, but the wanderlust seemed to have been passed on from father to son. Rose knew that she couldn't stop her son from going out to find his way in the world, but she feared that he would face a much harsher world than his father ever had.

Rose heard the front door open and close, telling her that her husband was home. In his efforts to keep Anders Cedar Rapids solvent, he had been working almost every day, even Christmas Eve, although Rose had talked him into taking Christmas Day off. After all, it wasn't every day that the whole family gathered together, and Christmas was special.

Awkwardly, Rose pushed herself to her feet and went to greet him. Things had been tense between them since she had announced her pregnancy. John was worried about the future, and rightfully so. They had been doing well enough, and better than many, but there was no telling what the future would hold. The stock market had rallied briefly earlier in the year, giving them hope that the financial depression would be short-lived, but then had fallen again, and had shown no signs of recovering. It wasn't even just a certain portion of the American people who were affected—almost everyone felt the effects in some way, some more than others. Nor was it just the United States that was affected—things were bad all over the world, and had been for a long time in some countries. There was no telling how long the Depression would last, how bad it would get, or what it would take to finally end it.

In spite of his worries about the future, though, John had accepted the baby she was carrying, just as she had known he would. He wouldn't reject or abandon one of his own just because times were hard, anymore than he had when he was just starting out in America. Whenever the family had a little extra money, he had added it to what Rose had already set aside, making sure that they would always have what they needed. There were few luxuries anymore, even though they could have afforded them in the short term, but they had what they needed.

And they had each other. Some families had been divided by the difficult times that they faced, but the Calverts had been lucky. Even with Mary and Nadia grown and living on their own, they were still a family, still together. Mary and Nadia kept in contact with their family members in Cedar Rapids, though they didn't often see them, and even Elizabeth Anders kept in touch with her son-in-law and his family.

She had been the only one unable to join them for Christmas, as business matters had kept her in New York. But she was doing well, better, perhaps, than the Calverts, who had so many mouths to feed. The Anders corporation as a whole had been hit hard by the Depression, but she had managed to keep it solvent, even though she had been forced to sell off parts of it. The main offices and factories were still under her control, though, as were the more stable branches of the company—including Anders Cedar Rapids. Although John was the president of the Cedar Rapids branch, he ultimately answered to her, and it was the efforts of both of them that had kept it from collapsing.

Sighing, Rose went to greet John, trying to put her worries out of her mind. There was nothing they could do to change the current situation, or the future, so they would just have to take each day as it came, just as she had been doing for almost nineteen years.

XXXXX

Rose awoke abruptly, enveloped in the layers of blankets and quilts. John slept peacefully beside her, more relaxed than usual with the knowledge that he did not have to work tomorrow, did not have to worry about the company or the people he was responsible for.

As she pushed herself into a sitting position, he stirred, reaching for her. When he found an empty pillow, he awoke, blinking in confusion.

"Rose? What's going on?" he mumbled, sitting up beside her.

Rose wrapped her arms around her stomach. "I think I'm having the baby now."

"You're having the baby…now?"

Rose nodded, swinging her legs around to the side of the bed. "I think you'd better go and call the doctor."

"It's three AM on Christmas morning!"

"Unless you want to deliver the baby yourself, I suggest you go and call him. It probably won't be the first time he's worked on Christmas."

"I'm going." John crawled out of bed, reaching for his robe. "Will you be all right until he gets here?"

Rose smiled slightly. Now that the birth was imminent, he was no longer worried about the future, but about the present.

"I'm sure I'll be fine. Perhaps you can wake Mother before you call him. I'm sure she'll want to know that her new grandchild is about to be born, and if I do have any problems…well…she's had me. She knows something about childbirth."

By the time John stepped out into the hallway, the whole household was awake. Their conversation had been louder than he had thought, and everyone was gathering in the hall or poking their heads out of their bedrooms, wondering what was going on. Even Jane was awake, rubbing her eyes sleepily and peering at him from Nadia's arms.

"Go back to bed, everyone," he told them, waving everyone except Ruth back. "I'll be back here shortly. Your mother is having the baby."

At that, everyone pushed past him into the room he shared with Rose. John sighed in consternation. He could command respect at work, but his family was not so willing obey, especially when there was something as exciting as a new baby on the way.

He looked in one more time before going downstairs. Rose smiled at him a little sheepishly, then shrugged and waved him on. She certainly wouldn't lack for company while waiting for the doctor.

XXXXX

Rose cried out, gripping the blankets and bearing down. In spite of the chill of the December afternoon, she was drenched in sweat from the hours of laboring.

John had escorted the doctor upstairs forty-five minutes after he had called him. The whole family had still been gathered around Rose, Mary and Nadia fascinated by the process of childbirth and trying to explain to Jane what was happening in a manner that wouldn't frighten her. Christopher had been embarrassed by what his mother was going through, but was unwilling to leave her until the doctor got there, in spite of the fact that she also had his sisters and grandmother with her. Ruth had, once again, been trying to give Rose advice, much to Rose's consternation.

Dr. Lauersen had finally succeeded in shooing away everyone except Ruth, who refused to miss the birth of her fifth grandchild. Rose had looked pleadingly at her, begging her to go out with the others, but Ruth had been adamant. Rose had finally consented to her mother's presence when Ruth had promised not to give her any unsolicited advice.

The birth was near; Rose could feel it. It had taken her until her third child, but she finally knew what to expect. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she looked at Dr. Lauersen, who nodded, confirming what she already knew.

"Just a little more, Mrs. Calvert, and you'll have yourself a Christmas baby."

Rose took a deep breath, looking gratefully at her mother when she placed several pillows behind her to prop her up. Gritting her teeth, she bore down, feeling the baby squirm in protest.

"Just a little longer, little one, and you'll be free," she whispered, clenching her jaw as another contraction started.

It seemed to take forever. Slowly but surely, however, she was making progress. By the time the clock chimed five, Dr. Lauersen announced that the baby's head was showing.

Relieved, Rose bore down again, pushing until it felt as though she were trying to push her entire insides out, crying out in pain. No matter how many times she went through childbirth, it was still hard.

In minutes, though, she felt a sudden surge of relief as the baby slid from her body, followed by the wail of the newborn. Outside the room, she heard footsteps stop just outside the door as John ceased his worried pacing.

"It's a boy!" Dr. Lauersen announced, cutting the cord and allowing Rose to see her infant. Still panting from the exertion, she took him, holding him close against the evening chill. Ruth looked down at her daughter and newborn grandson, beaming with pride.

Rose examined the baby. The boy was tiny but strong, wailing furiously and waving his tiny arms and legs. His head was covered with thick, dark hair, much like his father's, and his face bore an unmistakable resemblance to John's.

When Dr. Lauersen had Rose and the baby cleaned up and cared for, Ruth went to let the anxious father in, finding, to her surprise, that the whole family had gathered around the door.

"How is she?" John asked, looking anxiously around Ruth at Rose, who was lying in bed with the baby cradled in her arms.

"She's fine, John. You have a healthy new son."

John went inside to see Rose, while the older children gathered around the door, trying to get a look at their new brother.

John sat down on the edge of the bed beside Rose, gently lifting the baby from her arms. He looked down at his newborn son, his face softening. This was a moment he had never expected to see—the birth of a son, one who looked so much like him that he could have been him forty-three years earlier. Rose saw his look and smiled.

"Are you still sorry we had another baby?" she asked, sitting up and looking at the baby in his arms.

John shook his head. "I was never sorry…not really. I was just…worried about the future. It's so uncertain…"

Rose touched his arm. "I was concerned, too…but I've believed for a long time that you can't worry too much about the future. It will come, whether you worry or not. It's better to think about each day as it comes…and to make each day count." She smiled. "Someone told me that a long time ago…and it's as true now as it was then."

"You're right," John admitted. "It can be hard to remember that sometimes, though."

"I know, especially if you've spent your life worrying about the future…but take it from me, sometimes you just have to take things as they come." She paused, taking the baby back as he began to fuss. "What do you want to name him?"

John thought for a moment. He had thought about possible names for the baby, but there had only seemed to be one that would be right for his son. Unbidden, memories of the story that Elizabeth Anders had told him about Miriam's true parentage came to mind, convincing him that the name he had chosen was right.

"His name is Peter. Peter John Calvert."

XXXXX

After Dr. Lauersen had left, the Calvert family moved their Christmas celebration into John and Rose's bedroom. They had put off opening presents or eating any of the Christmas feast Ruth had prepared until after Rose had the baby.

Everyone gathered around and on the bed, while little Peter slept in a bassinet near his mother's side, and after dinner, set to opening the handful of gifts that they had bought that year.

Later, after Mary and Nadia had put Jane to bed, the adults and Christopher gathered again in the room, sipping eggnog. The two girls sat on the bed, Mary holding her baby brother, while John and Christopher sat close.

"You know something, Mom?" Mary asked, smiling as Peter wrapped a tiny fist around her thumb.

"What, Mary?"

"We didn't have as much stuff this Christmas as we had before, but it was better." She passed the baby to Nadia. "I didn't think we'd have everyone here this Christmas, but we did, and we even got a new baby brother as a Christmas present. This is better than any presents we've had before, or anything I've found in Hollywood."

"I'm glad you enjoyed this Christmas, Mary. Too many people think that Christmas is nothing without stacks of presents, but we did pretty well anyway, didn't we?"

"Yeah. I'm glad I came out here for Christmas."

"Me, too," Nadia added. "I was going to stay at the university to save money, but when Mary showed up and wanted me to come to Cedar Rapids…well—I just couldn't turn that down."

"Especially since I was paying for it," Mary teased her.

"Hey, at least you've got a steady job. I'm just a student."

"Well, we all managed to get together," John interjected. "Nadia, any time that you want to come home, just let us know. We'll arrange something."

"I know, Dad. I just didn't want to cost you too much money. I mean, you're paying for my college education, and there was a new baby on the way."

John grimaced, feeling a little guilty that his thoughts had been along those same lines. But to Nadia, he said, "You're welcome here anytime. You know that. And so is Mary."

"Thanks, Dad. I'll remember that." Nadia looked at Rose, noticing that she was almost asleep. Tugging on Mary's arm, she lowered her voice. "Merry Christmas, Dad, Mom, Grandma Ruth. We're going to let Mom get some sleep."

Mary and Nadia kissed Rose and their father good night, then left, gesturing imperiously to a reluctant Christopher to follow them. Ruth got up and left a moment later, leaving John, Rose, and Peter alone.

"Merry Christmas, Rose," John whispered to his sleepy wife, laying the baby in his bassinet. "Mary was right…this is the best one we've had."

Rose opened her eyes drowsily. "Yes, it has been. Merry Christmas, John…I love you."

"I love you, too, Rose."


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

June 14, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa

Rose sat beside John in the crowded auditorium, watching the graduating high school students file across the stage to receive their diplomas. Cradling Peter in her arms, she sat up straighter, watching with a mixture of pride and sorrow as Christopher marched across the stage and accepted his diploma.

Her little boy was all grown up, a high school graduate. Hadn't it been only yesterday that he had reluctantly started kindergarten, arguing the whole way? Where had the time gone?

_Look at him, Jack,_ she thought, watching the tall, blonde-haired young man step down from the stage and sit with his classmates. _Our son is all grown up. It's hard to believe. It seems like no time has passed since I found out I was pregnant with him, and yet it's been nineteen years. Nineteen years since the Titanic sank, taking you from me and leaving me to raise our precious child alone. And now he's eighteen years old, a young man, ready to set out on his own._

_He's so much like you, Jack. Not just in looks—although he does look almost exactly like you did. He's got that same wandering, questing spirit—I just hope that life is kinder to him than it was to you. I'd like to see him live a long time, settle down with a nice woman and have some children—the sort of life we might have had if you hadn't died._

_You told me that I would go on, that I would have lots of babies, and I have. And now our baby is all grown up, and ready to start his own life. He wants to take to the road like you did, to wander around and see everything there is to see. And he'll make it. I know he will. He's strong, and he's smart, and he'll be just fine. He's not our son for nothing._

_That night in the Renault—who would have thought that we would bring a child into the world, a child who inherited the best of both of us? Christopher isn't as great an artist as you were, but he has his own talents. He's as smart as either of us, and he's handsome, and he can act—just like me._

_Jack, I wish you were here to see this. I think you would have been proud at how Christopher turned out. There was so much against him—he was illegitimate, born into poverty to a young woman who was only then learning to get along in the world without servants and wealth. But he turned out just fine—and maybe he's stronger and has more character because of the hardships I faced raising him in his early years. I did the best I could, but I didn't do it alone. I was so lucky to have people who were willing to help me, to give me a chance. And eventually everything worked out, even with all the hardships along the way and the uncertain times that we face now._

It's been a joy and an honor to raise him, the child of our love, and I thank you for him, Jack. As hard as it will be to see him go out on his own, I'm proud of him. He's turned out to be a fine, decent young man, and if you were here, you would be as proud of him as I am.

XXXXX

Later that night, the family sat around the living room, congratulating Christopher on his graduation. He had gone out with his friends for a while afterwards, but at his mother's request had come home at 9:30 to celebrate with his family.

Now, after cake and gifts, the adults were gathered together to talk. Jane and Peter were asleep upstairs, but Nadia was there with them, home from college for the summer. Mary had been unable to come home, as she had been in the middle of filming, but everyone else was there.

Rose sat on the couch beside her husband, looking at her son as she quietly asked the question she had been dreading. "When are you leaving?"

Christopher hesitated a moment before answering. "Tomorrow afternoon, Mom. I thought I'd go to California first, see my old friends if they're still there, and then move on."

"How do you plan to get there?" John wanted to know.

Christopher looked a little sheepish. "Mary sent me a train ticket. She says that she has connections that could help me."

"She probably does," Rose interjected. "So do I."

"I know, but…I don't really know yet what I want to do with my life. There's so much to see and do, even in hard times like these. I won't be the only one wandering around, trying to make his way in the world—there are a lot of men on the road these days, all looking for something, and women, too. It may be a hard life, but I can't just stay in one place forever and never see what's out there. I mean, some people stay in one town their whole life, and never see anything. I want more than that. I've already seen a lot—but there's so much out there that I want to see and do." He grinned. "You can just call me a tumbleweed blowing in the wind."

Rose's eyes widened at the familiar words, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she just nodded and told him, "Remember to write to us. And if things shouldn't work out as well as you hope, or if you want to come back to visit, just let the wind blow you back to Cedar Rapids. You'll always have a home here if you need it."

Christopher looked uncertain for a moment, looking around his familiar surroundings as though he wasn't sure he was ready to leave, but then nodded. "I will, Mom. And I'll write as often as I can."

"I know you will. I do have some advice for you, though."

Christopher groaned under his breath, looking exasperated. He knew that his mother wouldn't let him go without some well-meaning advice, whether he listened to it or not.

"Don't look down on anyone because they aren't as fortunate as you—you may be in their shoes one day. Work hard and do the best you can at whatever you decide to do. Nothing is worthless unless you don't learn anything from it. Think for yourself—you have a good head on your shoulders, and I didn't raise you to follow someone else unquestioningly. Be civil to others—it'll save you a lot of trouble, even when other people won't be civil back. And remember that what you see on the surface isn't always what's underneath. You can't judge someone just by looking at them."

"And," John added, "if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. If someone tells you that something is easy, will make you a lot of money, and has no drawbacks—question it, especially if they want money to start with. Con men abound, especially in times like these, when people are looking for hope. Don't trust something like that, and don't try to get other people to trust it—you know better."

"Yes," Nadia agreed, looking at her stepbrother. "That goes for anything. If someone says something can't possibly happen, it can. Don't sail on any unsinkable ships."

Christopher sighed. "I won't. I'm not completely ignorant of the world, you know."

Rose leaned forward, touching her son's arm. "Christopher, whatever happens, remember that we'll always be there for you. If you need to come home, if you need a job, if you need advice—we'll help you in any way we can. It's a hard world out there—but there's a lot of good in it, too. Look for the good in the world, and add to it. Do what's right, no matter how hard it is."

"I will, Mom."

"And one more thing, son."

"What's that?"

"Make each day count."


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

_June 21, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Nadia strolled along the sidewalk towards the Blue Rose main office, a copy of the screenplay she had been working on in her hand. In spite of her aspirations to teach, she still enjoyed writing, and Rose had offered to look over the screenplay she had been writing in her spare time, and perhaps even buy it from her if she thought she could make a movie out of it.

She stretched, lifting her face toward the summer sunlight. It was good to be home. In spite of the absence of her stepbrother and the presence of her whining younger siblings, it was good to be back in Cedar Rapids, away from Mississippi and the suspicious looks that some people still gave her.

Taking the screenplay from its envelope, Nadia leafed through it, frowning at a couple of scenes in the middle section. For some reason, they just didn't seem to work. She was sure that Rose would help her with them, but she wished that she could figure them out herself.

So intent was she on the stack of papers in her hand that she didn't notice the bucket of soapy water in her path, or the man mopping the floor, until she stumbled over the bucket, knocking it over on its side and sending the slippery mess across the floor.

Nadia yelped in surprise as her feet flew out from under her, sending the screenplay flying from her hand. She gave an undignified grunt as she landed hard on her backside, the papers scattering beyond her reach, and, fortunately, out of the way of the water.

The man who had been mopping the floor leaned the mop against the wall and hurried over to Nadia. "Sorry, ma'am. Let me help you up."

Nadia gave another unladylike grunt as he helped her stand, forgetting her manners as she rubbed her sore backside through her wet, soapy skirt. Finally, she wiped her hands on her blouse and looked at him, then stopped, her mouth hanging open, as she forgot what she was going to say.

She didn't usually stare at men, or spend a great deal of time thinking about them—she had always had other things to think about, and Mary had always been the one to behave in a silly fashion over some good-looking boy or man. But for some reason, this man was an exception.

He was taller than her by a good eight inches, with a face that would have made young girls sigh, had he been in the movies. His skin was very dark, the color of the rich wood paneling that had been in the old house, and his strong, white teeth stood out in contrast to his dark skin. His tightly curled black hair was neatly clipped, and he was clean-shaven.

Nadia continued to stare for a moment, the only rational thought in her head the question of why he was mopping the floor instead of appearing before the camera. Surely Rose would understand the value of such a handsome face.

"Sam? What's going on? I heard a crash." Rose stepped out of her office, wiping her ink-stained fingers on a piece of ragged cloth.

Nadia was brought abruptly back to the present by Rose's voice. Suddenly aware that she had been staring, she closed her mouth and looked away, face reddening. To think, she'd just been doing what she had always teased Mary for!

Sam turned to Rose. "Sorry, Mrs. Calvert. I left the bucket in the middle of the hall, and she tripped over it…"

"Oh, no." Nadia shook her head. "I should have been watching where I was going. Here…let me wipe it up." She turned around, her wet skirt clinging to her legs. "Mom…where's the stuff to wipe it up with?"

"Don't worry about it…uh…Miss Calvert. I'll clean it up."

"Oh, no. It was my fault. I'll clean it up."

Rose interrupted them. "Sam…since most of the water would have wound up on the floor anyway, why don't you just mop it up and spread it around? It'll save time and the cost of the soap. Just wipe up whatever's left when you're done, so that no one else slips in it." She turned to her stepdaughter. "Nadia…what brings you here?"

"I finished that screenplay I've been working on. I wanted to show it to you and get your advice…some parts just don't work." She looked around the hallway, where the papers were scattered. "Oh…what a mess…"

"I'm sure we can put it back together, Nadia." Rose moved carefully past the spill and began to collect the scattered papers. "Sam, why don't you take a break until we have this sorted out? There's coffee in the cafeteria right now, if you'd like some."

"Sure. Thanks, Mrs. Calvert."

Rose glanced at Nadia as she crouched beside her, picking up papers and trying to put them back in some semblance of order. A half-smile played at her mouth as she saw Nadia turn her head to watch Sam walk away.

Nadia had always been an introvert, more interested in what was going on in her mind than in the outside world, and she had been leery of men since her experience with her boyfriend at the beginning of college, who had walked away from her when she was the center of controversy, then tried to come back when he learned that she had a rich father. This time, though, it seemed that Nadia had met someone that she couldn't quite ignore or disdain, no matter how much she wanted to.


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

When she had finished showing her screenplay to Rose, Nadia walked casually to the janitor's closet at the back of the building, hoping that Sam was still around. In spite of her embarrassment over knocking over the bucket and falling in front of him, she wanted to apologize for disrupting his work.

As she walked, she counseled herself on what to say. She wasn't going to be rude or overly forward, and she certainly wasn't going to stand there and stare at him, her mouth snapping open and shut like a beached fish. Those were actions that she could expect out of Mary—and she had always prided herself on being more dignified than her sister. _Even if I made a fool of myself earlier, there's no reason to keep on acting that way,_ she thought, straightening her back as she headed down the long hallway.

When she reached the janitor's closet, though, and saw Sam rinsing out the mop and bucket, her resolve left her. Nervously, she watched him work, staring at him in spite of her best intentions.

After a moment, he seemed to sense that she was there and turned around. Nodding to her, he finished his work and turned off the water, drying his hands on a dirty towel. "Can I help you, Miss Calvert?"

"N-Nadia. Please, call me Nadia." Her faced turned red as she stuttered, wondering what was wrong with her that she became so flustered in front of a man she had hardly met.

"All right. Nadia. What can I do for you?"

"Uh…Mr...uh…Sam…I…I wanted to apologize for—for getting in the way of your work earlier. I should have been watching where I was going."

He stepped out into the hallway, careful to keep his distance from her. "Don't worry about it. I shouldn't have left the bucket in the middle of the floor."

"No…no, I should have been paying more attention. I wasn't thinking about anything but what was in my hands…and I could have run into someone or tripped over something, if your bucket hadn't met my foot first."

"There was no harm done. You just…spread the water around a little. Made my job a little easier."

"Only because my mom…Mrs. Calvert…was nice about it. Somebody else might have gotten mad."

"Well, she didn't get mad, so there's nothing to worry about. Were you hurt when you slipped?"

"Aside from a sore…uh…well, landing hard, nothing was bruised but my pride. I just don't like messing up something that someone else is doing."

He raised an eyebrow. "Now, that's unusual. Most girls like you wouldn't notice someone like me."

"What do you mean, most girls like me? I'm no better and no worse than anyone else. And I'm not a girl. I'll be graduating from college in a year. Besides, I couldn't help but notice you. If you hadn't been cleaning, I would have thought you were an aspiring actor."

"Why would you think that?"

"Well, this is a movie studio."

"Your mother wouldn't hire me, you know."

"Why not? Would you make a fool of yourself on camera? Even if you couldn't act, I bet she'd take you as an extra."

He looked at her patiently as they left the hall and walked into the waiting room. "In case you didn't notice, I'm Negro."

"I noticed. So what?"

"Do you really think your mother would hire someone for a movie who wasn't white?"

"She's done it before. She once said that she didn't care if someone was purple, as long as they could act. Did you even ask her about it?"

"I just asked for a job, and I was grateful to get it. Or maybe you don't know how things are out there."

"I know. I go to college in Mississippi, and I was afraid I'd have to leave for a while, because it's so hard to get enough money for things like that."

Sam raised his eyebrow again, looking at her with more respect. She wasn't an ordinary rich white girl, that was for sure.

"Why don't you ask for an audition?" Nadia went on. "Mom's casting for her next picture, and she might need someone like you. You look good enough," she blurted out, then slapped her hand over her mouth, unable to believe what she had just said.

"Thanks. I don't know about…what was it you said? Audition?"

"Auditioning. You'd just read a part of the script, and she'd tell you what she thought, and hire you if you seemed right for the part."

"That counts me out right there. I can't read."

"You can't read? Oh…oh, I'm sorry." Nadia had forgotten something that she had learned, but hadn't paid much attention to…many Negro children never really had the chance to learn to read. It was something she had learned in her studies to be a teacher, but had never really thought about until now.

"Well…but you could still see about being an extra. Mom's next picture is set in Los Angeles, so you'd probably fit it just fine…"

"And if I prefer the job I have?"

Nadia wrinkled her nose. She couldn't imagine anyone _wanting_ to clean for a living…at least, it didn't appeal to her.

"Well, if it makes you happy…"

"You really think she'd hire me?"

"If you were right for the part, yes. Just ask her about it when you go to work tomorrow…she's going to be in the movie as well as directing it, so she'll know what she needs."

Sam rubbed his chin, considering. "I'll think about it."

"If not this picture, then another. Sometimes she has two or three filming at once. If you were really good at acting, she might even give you a contract, to keep you from going off to Hollywood."

He laughed. "No chance of that."

"You never know. I bet she'd rather hire a good actor than a janitor…janitors are easier to find, and she can do her own cleaning if she has to."

"Or make you do it."

"Yeah." Nadia looked dismayed at the idea.

"Well, don't tell her about me, because I can't make any promises, but I'll think about it."

"I can't ask for more."

Slowly, Nadia put her hand out, and the two shook hands, grinning conspiratorially.


	40. Chapter Forty

**Chapter Forty**

_June 22, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

The following morning, Nadia slipped out early, knowing that Sam would be at work already. She let herself into the main office of Blue Rose using the extra key Rose had given her, and hurried down the still-shaded halls, looking for Sam.

She finally found him in the janitor's closet, filling a bucket with soap and water in preparation to clean another part of the building. Poking her head in the door, she asked, "Are you going to do it? Are you going to ask for an acting job?"

He jumped, startled, almost spilling the contents of the bucket on the floor. Turning around, he fixed her with an irritated glare.

Nadia gave him a sheepish look. "Sorry. Now you know why I don't take cleaning jobs—me and buckets never did get along."

"Buckets and I."

"What?"

"Buckets and I. The last place I worked, the lady was always correcting her children's grammar."

Nadia blushed, though she didn't quite understand why. "Some teacher I'll be."

"You're going to be a teacher?"

"That's what I intend, if I can find a job. You know how things are these days."

"Yeah, I know." He looked at her, wishing that she would move out of the way so that he could get to work.

Nadia saw his look and finally stepped aside, then followed him down the hall. He looked back at her warily.

She stood back as he got to work, understanding his wariness in her presence. She wasn't nearly as sheltered as she had once been, and she knew how many people would regard any sort of relationship or private contact between a Negro man and a white woman, no matter how innocent. She knew about lynchings that had taken place over such issues—typically without a trial and with little or no concrete evidence of any crime taking place—if the individual was even accused of any specific crime. Sometimes, just being Negro was enough, especially where fanatics were concerned.

It seemed to Nadia grossly unfair that such things went on, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. Her own position was too precarious for her to speak out much, and even in more tolerant places than Mississippi, such ideas could still get her into trouble. Rose had no qualms about speaking out, but she was well-to-do and famous in her own right, and such things could go a long way toward covering for socially unacceptable behavior.

Still, it didn't stop her from talking to him. No one was likely to complain about that, since they were the only ones there and the first person likely to show up would be Rose, who wouldn't jump to conclusions. Even if someone else did show up, she could always pretend to be ordering him around—after all, she was the stepdaughter of the woman who owned and ran Blue Rose.

"Well, are you going to do it?"

"Do what?" He looked up from where he was sweeping the floor.

Nadia sighed in exasperation. "Ask Mrs. Calvert for an acting job. She'd probably give you one, and you could make more money that way. And if you were just an extra, and still wanted to clean, you might even be able to do both."

"Why aren't you an actress?"

"I don't like being in the spotlight."

"How do you know I would?"

"I don't. But you still might like it anyway. Have you ever tried it?"

"No."

"Well, then, how do you know you wouldn't like it?"

"I never said I wouldn't."

"But you said…" Nadia glared at him. "You are so annoying!"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Thanks."

At that moment, they heard Rose's voice echoing through the halls. "Sam? Nadia? Where are you?"

Sam quickly turned away from Nadia, suddenly very interested in a speck of dirt on the floor. Nadia yelled down the hall.

"We're in here, Mom!"

Rose came down the hall, stopping when she saw Nadia. "I knew you were here. Your father was wondering where you'd gotten to. I thought you might have come here, and your muddy footprints in the freshly scrubbed entry hall confirmed it." She gave her stepdaughter a look. "Haven't you learned yet to wipe your feet?"

Nadia looked down at her plain brown shoes, only now realizing that they were indeed mud-encrusted. "Uh…sorry, Mom. Sorry, Sam. I guess you'll have to clean it again."

"Not a chance, Nadia," Rose interjected. "Sam, please give her the bucket and mop. She can wipe up her own footprints."

Nadia grimaced, but knew better than to argue with Rose. Her stepmother had always believed in taking responsibility for one's own actions.

Sighing, she took the bucket and mop. As she was about to leave, she turned suddenly, spilling some water on the floor. "Are you going to ask her?" She gestured to Rose.

"Ask me what?" Rose was confused.

"About an acting job."

"You want an acting job?" Rose looked at Sam. "Why didn't you say so?"

Sam just shrugged, but Nadia spoke up. "He didn't think you'd hire him. He thought you only hired white people as actors."

"Why, that's ridiculous! Anyone who's seen my pictures knows that I'll hire anyone with talent." She stopped. "Have you never seen any of my films, Sam?"

"I've never seen a moving picture."

"You're missing out, then. Tell me, have you ever tried acting on the stage?"

"No."

"Do you want an audition?"

He shrugged, not sure whether he wanted to try it or not.

"He could be an extra in your new picture," Nadia suggested.

Rose shook her head. "I have all the extras I need. What I need is an actor for a bit part. I haven't found the right person yet, even for such a small role." She turned back to Sam. "Would you be interested in reading for it?"

Sam shook his head. "I can't read."

"Oh. Well…" Rose thought for a moment, unwilling to let the idea go now that she had it. "Can you dance? The part requires some dancing."

"The girls back home thought so." Sam was beginning to be intrigued by the idea of becoming an actor, although he still doubted that anything would come of it.

"Show me."

"Here?"

"Yes. Right now."

Feeling foolish, he leaned the broom against the wall and demonstrated a few steps. He doubted that it was the kind of dancing she was used to, consisting as it did of bits of popular dances combined with more traditional ones—his sister had loved dancing, and would try any kind, using him for a partner if she couldn't find anyone else. Since she hadn't always known what the latest dances were, she had improvised, enjoying every minute of it.

But Rose just nodded, recognizing that he did indeed have talent. Then, she gestured to Nadia.

"Let's see how you dance with another person. Nadia, you be his partner."

Nadia blushed, embarrassed. "Mom…why can't you dance with him?"

"Because I'm watching. Now, go ahead."

"I…uh…I need to go clean the hall."

"That can wait. Your footprints aren't going anywhere."

"Mom…"

"Go, Nadia. There's no one else to audition him with right now."

Nervously, Nadia approached him. Dancing wasn't her favorite activity, especially if someone was watching. Still, she wasn't usually so embarrassed. What was wrong with her? She felt like a young girl at her first dance—but without any friends for reassurance.

Following Rose's instructions, they danced—first a rapid dance without touching, then a fast, hand-holding dance, and finally a slow dance, close together.

Nadia was surprised at how much she enjoyed dancing with Sam, even if was just for his audition—and the slow dance was the best of all.

"Ahem. Sam, Nadia…that's enough. The audition's over." They didn't respond, but just kept slowly dancing around the room.

"Sam! Nadia!" Trying to hold back her laughter, Rose approached them and tapped Nadia on the shoulder. "May I cut in?"

"What?" Then Nadia realized that she had been dancing slowly around the room with Sam for far longer than was necessary. "Oh! I…uh…I'd better go clean that hallway." Face red, she rushed from the room, splattering water as she went.

Rose couldn't hold back her laughter any longer. Leaning against the wall, she laughed until Sam looked at her as though she'd lost her mind.

"Mrs. Calvert?"

Rose finally stopped laughing. "I think she likes you," she told him.

"I like her, too…I think." He stopped, reaching for the broom again. "Sorry. Didn't mean nothing by it."

"By the 'I like her' or by the 'I think'?" Rose laughed softly. "Don't worry, Sam. I'm not going to raise a fuss. Nadia's finally found someone that she can't just ignore or disdain." She paused. "Now, about that audition…"

"Yeah?"

"You dance very well, but I don't know how well you act. I know you can't read, but perhaps you could improvise a scene for me."

"I could what?"

"Improvise a scene. That is, make something up. Pretend that you're talking to someone, or to yourself, and just…do something. Just something that lets me know what you can do."

"But I can't read the part…"

"There's only a few lines. You seem intelligent. I'm sure you could learn them by ear."

"Okay…"

"So…make something up."

He thought about it for a moment, not sure that he really wanted to do this, then picked up the broom and turned it upside down, holding it at arm's length.

He spoke in an angry voice. "Get moving, you nigger! What am I paying you five cents an hour for? That cotton patch ain't hoed. Can't you do any better than that? I'm losing money by having to watch you all the time."

His voice turned subservient, with a slight hint of sarcasm, as he slumped slightly. "Sorry, sir. Some of them weeds are real deep—I can't get them out without ruining the cotton."

He switched back to the first character. "Don't give me no excuses, nigger…you ain't worth five cents an hour!"

He stopped, turning to Rose. "How was that?"

Rose's eyes were wide. "That was wonderful! Two characters at once. Not many people do that."

"Oh."

"I think you'd be right for the part. It's yours…if you want it."

"Can I still keep this job?"

"If you want, but that part I offered you pays much more."

"But when it's done…"

"I'll tell you what. You can take the film role for now, and you can have the janitorial job back when it's over, if you don't take another role or find another job. You'll be paid a small salary while filming—enough to keep you reasonably comfortable. Then, when the picture is being shown and the profits come in, if there are any—and sometimes there aren't—I give each principal actor and actress one percent of the profits. In a successful film, that can be quite a lot of money, and it gives people an incentive to do their best. Will you take the part?"

He hesitated a moment, still not sure, then replied, "Sure. I'll do it."

"Great. And don't worry about fitting in. Four Negroes have contracts with Blue Rose—one man, two women, and a twelve-year-old boy with a talent for comedy. It would have been five, but I lost one person to Hollywood. None of them are in this picture, but you may meet George—that's the twelve-year-old—around here, because he's working on another picture that my assistant, Polly, is directing."

"When do I start?"

"Come to my office at nine o'clock—can you read time?"

"No."

"All right." Rose pointed to the clock, reading off the numbers. "When the small hand is on the nine and the large hand on the twelve, come to my office. I'll go over your film contract with you, and you can sign it. Just make your mark if you can't write your name. If you want to keep cleaning until then, go ahead. I'll pay you for yesterday and this morning when we meet, too."

Sam nodded. "Okay. I'll finish up here, and be at your office at nine o'clock."

They shook on it, Rose pleased with her discovery and Sam surprised at the sudden turn his life had taken.


	41. Chapter Forty One

**Chapter Forty-One**

_June 22, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Nadia sat up abruptly as the doorbell rang, annoyed at the interruption. Smoothing her skirt, she rose from the couch and turned off the radio, strolling lazily toward the front door and hoping that her grandmother would get it first.

She didn't. Ruth was in the kitchen, watching the two youngest members of the Calvert family and making lunch. When the doorbell rang again, she called to her elder granddaughter.

"Nadia, will you please answer the door?"

Sighing, Nadia did as she was asked. She was still smarting with embarrassment over her unseemly behavior that morning, and just wanted to be left alone. She opened the door, not really caring who it was, then blushed bright red when she saw the person waiting on the other side.

"S-Sam!" she stuttered. "W-what are you doing here?"

"Your mother sent me here."

"S-she did? Why?"

"Well, you were right about her needing to hire another actor, and she did…cast…me for that part you helped me…audition…for this morning."

"Congratulations! I knew you could do it." She smiled, genuinely pleased for him.

"There was one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"She says that I need to learn to read. If I can act as well on camera as I could in that audition, she might offer me a contract—but only if I can read."

"Well, that's good…but why did she send you here?"

"She said that you would teach me to read, since you're about to become a teacher and everything."

"Oh, she did, did she?" Nadia scowled, none too pleased at this turn of events. She had been planning on a relaxing summer, writing her stories and screenplays and forgetting about school and teaching until she returned to college at the end of August.

"She said that you need the experience, and you need a job. She also said that you would be grateful to have a job in these hard times."

"Oh, really? I'm her stepdaughter, not her servant, and she can't just make me work for her. It wouldn't even be a real job if she didn't pay me."

"She said that she'd pay you a dollar a day."

Nadia rolled her eyes. "She can afford more than that."

"It would only be an hour a day. It's a lot more than some people make in an hour."

"Oh. Well…she still shouldn't try to tell me what to do. I'm an adult, and it should be my decision what kind of job I get."

"You have that many offers?"

"No, but…I'm still in college. I'm just here for the summer. I'll be going back to Mississippi in August."

"I learn fast."

"Still…"

Sam looked at her, trying to decide whether she was really upset with her stepmother for suddenly giving her a job, or whether she simply didn't want to teach him. He had been surprised when she had followed him around, pestering him about auditioning for one of Mrs. Calvert's moving pictures. Nadia seemed sweet enough, if occasionally a little silly, but she had run away so quickly that morning after her stepmother had made her help him audition that he had assumed that, after her initial curiosity, she had wanted nothing to do with him. Perhaps she was afraid of what her family and friends would think if they knew she had been talking to him, or what her classmates would think—Mississippi wasn't noted for its tolerance.

Still, she hadn't slammed the door in his face, which was a good sign. Although he had never even thought about being an actor, he had been intrigued by the idea when Nadia had suggested it to him. He had had no idea what to expect in an audition, but it hadn't been anything horrible—he had even liked dancing with Nadia. Mrs. Calvert had explained how things were done and what to expect when he had met with her, and had read the contract for the picture to him. He couldn't write his name when he needed to sign it, but she had shrugged it off, telling him to make a mark on the line. She had also printed his name on the contract so that there could be no doubt whose contract it was.

Then she had told him that he needed to learn to read. It wasn't the actual learning that was the problem—he was sure that he could learn, and Mrs. Calvert had agreed—but finding someone to teach him could prove difficult. Most people who were just learning to read were children, and he was much too old to go to school with them. There was Coe College, and even though he was older than most college students—he thought that he was about twenty-five years old—she didn't think that his age would be a problem. After all, her husband had graduated from Coe College when he was in his late thirties. But she didn't know if they would accept a student who was Negro, and whether they did or not, a person was expected to know how to read and write before they went to college.

He had suggested that she teach him to read, but Mrs. Calvert had just shook her head. Between running her own film company and caring for her family, she hardly had a spare moment. It was then that she had decided that Nadia would teach him, never stopping to consult her stepdaughter on the idea. He liked Nadia, although he hadn't said anything since he had commented on her to her stepmother that morning, but he wasn't sure what she thought of him. He also wasn't sure if it would be appropriate for her to teach him, especially since it would most likely be private lessons. It would only be teaching, to be sure, but some people might not see it that way.

Still, he wanted to learn to read, not only because it might get him a long-term contract with Blue Rose, but because he recognized it as a valuable skill. He had never had a chance to learn to read growing up—there had been no school nearby that would accept him, and the amount of work that every family member had to do just to survive would have left little time for schooling anyway. There had been no chance to learn at home—his mother couldn't read at all, and his father just a little. They had worked harder than any of their offspring—labor laws and reforms, what there were of them, didn't apply to an impoverished family of sharecroppers trying to make a living on worn-out soil.

His mother had died in childbirth when he was thirteen, and after that, his father had abandoned the hardscrabble farm and gone to the nearest town looking for work, taking his three surviving children with him. Things hadn't been much better, but they had survived, and, at sixteen, Sam had left home to make his own way in the world.

It hadn't been easy, but there had been enough good times to make it worth it. He had gone home once, to find that his sister had married and his father and brother were working in a cotton mill. Perhaps he should have stayed and helped them, but his life as an itinerant worker had been more satisfying than working for starvation wages in a dark, noisy, closed-in factory, so he had left, and hadn't been back since. At least when he went hungry, he was doing so on more or less his own terms.

Then had come the janitorial job with Blue Rose—not his favorite sort of work, but Mrs. Calvert had agreed to pay him fairly. And now he was a motion picture actor—and he had never even seen a moving picture.

Which brought him back to the problem at hand.

"Well, can you teach me to read?" he asked Nadia, not at all sure what her response would be.

"Um…I guess I could." Nadia was still hesitant.

"Is it just that you don't want your mom telling you what to do, or that you don't want to work with me?"

"I…I…" Nadia's face slowly regained its red shade. "I…don't mind teaching you, but…but I'm an adult. Mom can't tell me what to do!"

"Do you want to teach me?"

"I…uh…" Nadia stammered, not wanting to give him a real answer. She did want to teach him—it would give her a chance to get to know this intriguing young man better—but she made a fool of herself every time she saw him. "I…I…all right. I will," she decided suddenly. What did it matter what he thought? Certainly he would never be more than her student, and she would be prim and proper and dignified from here on out. Of course she would. The fact that he was the most interesting man she had ever met meant nothing.

"Nadia?" Ruth called from the kitchen. "Who's at the door?"

"Um…we were about to sit down for lunch," Nadia told Sam. "Would you like to join us?"

"Who's us?"

"Me, Grandma Ruth, and my little sister, Jane. I have a baby brother, too, but he doesn't eat with us yet. He just gets a bottle when Mom's not home."

Ruth came out of the kitchen, Peter in her arms. He squealed, waving his arms at his beloved older sister. Nadia took him, bouncing him gently and making him giggle.

Ruth looked around Nadia at her visitor, who still stood outside the front door. Frowning, she took Peter back from Nadia and turned to Sam.

"Can I help you?" Ruth had never trusted coloreds, as she called them, and finding Sam on the doorstep, carrying on a conversation with her granddaughter, made her suspicious.

"Grandma Ruth, this is Sam…uh…what's your last name?"

"Blass."

"Sam Blass. Mom cast him in a small part in the picture she's going to start filming in July, and she hired me to teach him to read." She didn't notice Sam's look of annoyance when she revealed that he couldn't read.

"Did she now?"

"Yes, she did." Nadia was beginning to get defensive. She knew that her grandmother was standoffish toward people who she didn't consider to be as good as herself, but she was beginning to get downright rude. "I asked him to stay for lunch," she added, knowing that Ruth wouldn't like the idea.

She was right. Ruth shook her head, looking for a polite excuse to turn Sam away. She couldn't forget that she was only a guest in this house, and that if she angered Rose by being impolite to someone she had hired, her daughter could very well tell her to find a home of her own. She didn't think that Rose would cast her out, but she wanted to be safe, and she knew that any rudeness on her part would immediately get back to her daughter through a disgruntled Nadia.

"I'm afraid that I only fixed enough for the three of us, and there isn't any bread left—Jane sneaked down last night and ate a lot of it."

Nadia sighed, knowing that her grandmother was making excuses, but there wasn't really anything she could do about it. Jane had found her way down to the kitchen the night before and gotten into the bread—along with the strawberry jam and the butter. John had come downstairs after hearing the noises in the kitchen, spanked his youngest daughter soundly, and sent her back to bed, but not before she had eaten a considerable amount and fed some to the half-grown dog the family had acquired.

"I can share my lunch," she offered. "I don't eat that much anyway."

"You don't eat nearly enough," Ruth interjected.

"I'm fine, Grandma."

"No, Nadia, I insist—"

"We'll go into town for lunch, then," Nadia told Sam. "My treat. There's a little diner where you can get a good sandwich for cheap. We should go there before they go out of business, too."

"I don't know…"

"I'll be back later, Grandma."

"Nadia Calvert…"

"Come on, Sam." Nadia hurried out the door before her grandmother could begin to lecture her on her behavior. Ruth DeWitt Bukater was the only person she knew who could lecture worse than her stepmother, and Nadia really didn't want to stand there and be embarrassed.

They walked together into town, jumping apart in embarrassment when they accidentally touched and ignoring the stares of the people that they passed. Nadia was more accustomed to being stared at than Sam was—after all, she was the stepdaughter of a movie star and the daughter of a well-off businessman. She also looked a little different from most of the people in town, with her olive skin, and had sometimes attracted speculation as to why a well-to-do man like her father had adopted a child so obviously different from him.

Sam was uncomfortable with all the attention—not all of it was merely curious—and sat nervously at the table at the back of the diner that Nadia had chosen. There weren't many people inside, even at noon, but he still didn't enjoy all the attention being paid to the two of them.

Nadia noticed, but shrugged it off. "It's amazing how much gossip can be created by walking down the street," she remarked, perusing the menu. After telling Sam what was offered, they ordered their lunches and sat quietly, glancing nervously at each and at the table.

Finally, Nadia spoke. "If I'm going to teach you to read, I need to know where you're at. Can you read at all?"

"I can read a clock, and my numbers through twelve. Your stepmother explained how this morning."

Nadia raised an eyebrow. "You are a quick study. It took me a year to learn all that. Of course, I was also very young." She paused. "Do you know your alphabet?"

"No." He knew what the alphabet was, but not what it consisted of or how to read it.

"How about your name? Can you write it?"

"No."

"Okay." Nadia sat back, thinking. "We'll start with the alphabet, then. Did my mom say whether she wanted me to come to the studio and teach you, or go somewhere else?"

"She wanted me to go to your house, because you have space and plenty of beginner books. She doesn't have that at the studio."

"No, I guess she wouldn't."

"Your grandmother isn't going to like it."

"Grandma doesn't own the house. Mom and Dad do. She can complain, but if she doesn't like something, Mom just tells her that she's allowed to leave and find a place of her own. They don't always get along."

"What about your dad? What will he think?"

Nadia thought for a moment. "I really don't know. But I don't think he'll try to put a stop to it. He and Mom each have their own businesses, and they don't try to interfere with each other. Besides, Mom owns a lot of Dad's company. That gives her power."

Sam looked at her, raising his eyebrows. "That's quite a marriage."

"Oh, they love each other. Mom doesn't lord it over Dad, even if she does make more money than him. They respect each other."

"That's good to know."

"Well, when would you like to start? Tomorrow?"

He thought for a moment, nodding as the waitress brought their food.

"Tomorrow sounds good."


	42. Chapter Forty Two

**Chapter Forty-Two**

_August 9, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Several weeks had passed since Nadia had agreed to teach Sam to read. She worked with him daily, starting with the alphabet and moving on to words and reading. He had proven to be the sort of student that teachers loved—he learned quickly and showed an unquenchable thirst for knowledge.

He progressed quickly enough that he was able to read some of his few lines by July, when the filming began. To be sure, his reading was slow, and he often needed help with words that he couldn't sound out, but he was doing remarkably well for someone who had only begun to learn to read one and a half weeks earlier.

Being pushed together for the tutoring sessions had only served to increase Sam and Nadia's interest in one another. Nadia often found an excuse to hang around the studio during filming, hoping to see him, until Rose had threatened to film her if she didn't keep her distance while people were working. Chastened, Nadia had stopped hanging around, enjoying Sam's company while she taught him. It wasn't long, though, before they decided that the tutoring sessions weren't enough, and began going off together, trying to be discreet. Iowa was a far cry from Mississippi, but they knew better than to announce to the whole town that there was something between them. They didn't often frequent public places, but instead contented themselves with going on picnics, walks, and drives when Nadia could get the car.

They soon found that they had a lot in common. Much to Nadia's surprise, she soon found that she and Sam shared an interest in the arts, although their experiences were very different—Nadia had been to college, and knew a fair amount about art, theater, and dance—as well as about film, being Rose Dawson's stepdaughter—while Sam knew only about the folk art of the people he had grown up with and what he had seen after he had left home. But both knew things that the other didn't, and they were able to learn from one another.

They both also had a love for learning, even with their very different educational backgrounds. Part of Sam's success in learning to read so quickly was caused by the fact that there were a great many things he wanted to know—and the more he learned, the more he wanted to know. Nadia soon began to lend him books from the Calverts' collection—first the simple children's books that belonged to Jane, and then more difficult books as his skill increased—under the stipulation that he return them to herself or Rose as soon as he was done. She didn't want the books getting lost.

Sam's part in Rose's latest film had been small, and he was soon finished with shooting it, but she had been sufficiently impressed with his work that she had offered him a contract, not wanting to lose him to Hollywood. Sam had enjoyed being a motion picture actor, but he wasn't so sure that he wanted to be under contract—not after Rose had gone over the long-term contract with him and explained what everything meant. He wasn't so sure that he wanted to be tied down that way.

Rose had understood—she had always felt the same way, going from studio to studio—but she still hoped that he would sign the contract. It wasn't often that she found that level of talent so quickly, especially in an untrained person. She had pointed out to him that it would mean steady work, and if there came a time when there was no picture for him appear in for a while, he was welcome to learn how things worked behind the scenes.

He still wasn't sure if he wanted the contract, though, so Rose had assured him that the offer was open any time, when and if he decided to take her up on it.

XXXXX

In spite of their discretion, people did notice Sam and Nadia together. Some didn't care—it wasn't something that concerned them, and others had noticed that Nadia was olive-skinned—and possibly of another race—so whatever relationship she had with Sam didn't bother them. Other people, however, had noticed, and while it wasn't such a scandal as it could have been—it wasn't the first time that a member of the Calvert family had done something that society disapproved of—it still attracted attention, and people began to gossip.

Both Sam and Nadia had noticed that people were talking—and it wasn't all kind words—but they tried to ignore them. Some of the gossips were more shocked by the fact that Nadia, the daughter of one of the most well-off men in Cedar Rapids, was going about with a man who had been a janitor, than by the fact that the man in question was of a different race. But among those who were shocked by Nadia's relationship with Sam, the gossip was more vicious, more outraged, and much uglier.

John had known that something was going on between Sam and Nadia—he had allowed his daughter to use the car for their drives on occasion—but he hadn't really been paying attention. Nadia was an adult, and had a good head on her shoulders. She was quite capable of thinking for herself.

Some of the gossip, however, disturbed him. He didn't believe all of it—he knew how rumors could spread, and grow with each telling—but he was concerned for his daughter's reputation, and for that of the family. Finally, one evening in August, he decided to confront her about it.

The family was gathered around the dinner table, Rose patiently spooning baby food into Peter's mouth while everyone else attempted to ignore the mess the baby was making. Nadia was eating quietly, occasionally shooing away the dog who sat beside the high chair, staring at the baby hopefully.

She looked up in surprise when John cleared his throat. "Nadia, there's something I wanted to ask you about," he started, not sure how to broach the subject.

"What?" Nadia had a sneaking suspicion about what it was, but wasn't going to encourage trouble.

"You and Sam…ah…I take it he's making good progress in his studies?"

"Yes." Nadia avoided his eyes.

Realizing that Nadia wasn't going to volunteer any information, John got to the point. "Nadia, I don't know if you've noticed, but there are a lot of…rumors circulating about the two of you. Tell me the truth—have you been dating him?"

Nadia shuffled her feet uncomfortably. "Well, it isn't exactly dating. We've been going around together…" She looked up. "Contrary to what you might have heard, we are not having an affair."

Ruth gasped at the idea, but both John and Nadia ignored her. "I didn't think that you were, but I am concerned about what you might be getting yourself into."

Nadia bristled. "Dad, I'm an adult. I know what I'm doing."

John sighed. "Nadia, I'm just worried about your reputation—"

"It's not my reputation that you're worried about." Nadia glared at him. "You just don't like the idea that I might be dating a Negro!"

"Nadia, I just—"

Angrily, Nadia slammed her fork down and stormed out of the room, leaving her father staring after her.

XXXXX

After dinner, Rose went upstairs to Nadia's room. Knocking quietly on the door, she waited for a response.

"Nadia? Can I come in?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Nadia's feet pounded across the bare floor. Unlocking the door, she let Rose in, then went back to staring out the window.

Rose quietly closed the door behind her, going to stand beside her stepdaughter. Nadia immediately moved away, sitting on the edge of her bed and ignoring Rose.

"Nadia…" Rose sat down beside her, putting an arm around her before she could move away again.

"What?" Nadia's voice was sullen.

"About what happened earlier…I think that you and your father had a bit of a misunderstanding."

"I didn't misunderstand a thing."

"I talked to him, Nadia, and he was rather…confused…by your behavior. He wasn't sure what had set it off."

"He did."

"He didn't mean to. Nadia, it's true that he's a little uncomfortable with the idea of your dating a man of another race…but he won't try to stop you, if it's what you want to do. You're an adult now, and you can do as your please."

"He was complaining about the gossip."

Rose sighed, rubbing Nadia's stiff, tense back as her stepdaughter crossed her arms and set her face stubbornly. "He was concerned about your reputation, and that of the family. The gossip may not be true, but it can be extremely damaging."

"I don't care what people think."

"You may not think so now, but it can be hard to go against what everyone—or seemingly everyone—thinks is acceptable. You have to be strong to go against something like that."

Nadia just shrugged, not wanting to acknowledge the truth of Rose's words. Rose continued.

"Nadia…I can't say that I agree with the way that much of the world thinks. I think that there's a lot of narrow-minded people out there, people who are so set in their own way of thinking that they can't accept any other way. But like it or not, the fact remains that they do exist, and you have to be strong and sure of yourself to go against them."

"Of course I'm strong! I went against what people thought at college, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," Rose acknowledged. "You knew that you were right, you knew what you wanted, and you came through. Sometimes it doesn't work out that way. Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices." She turned Nadia to face her. "How do you feel about Sam, Nadia? Are you willing to make those sacrifices for him?"

Nadia looked down at her hands, unsure of what to say. "I don't know, Mom. I feel…he's special. More special than any man I've known…but I'm not sure how deeply I feel about him."

"How does he feel about you?"

"I don't know. He doesn't seem to be after Dad's money, or yours, and he doesn't try to take advantage of me."

"Do you love him?" Rose asked, remembering a time long ago when someone had asked her that same question.

Nadia's eyes flew open. "I…I don't know." She wrung her hands, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. "Mom…if you love someone, don't you know right away?"

"Not necessarily, Nadia. It took me many years to realize that I love your father. Sometimes, things have to change before you can understand something like that. You have to live a little, grow up some, before you can understand. Other times…you know quickly, and age or experience don't matter. But I will tell you this—when you truly love someone, it doesn't matter what race they are, or what their social status is, or how much money they have. It just feels right."

"Like Dad loves you, even though you're an actress and a lot of people thought that it wasn't right for him to marry you."

"Yes. But we both lucky—it worked out for the best, and neither of us had to give up anything to make it work. A long time ago…it was different for me."

"You mean with Christopher's father?"

"Yes. We were of…different social classes. He was poor, while I came from a wealthy Philadelphia society family. My family had fallen on hard times, and my mother was determined that I make a good marriage so that our finances would be restored."

"And Christopher's father wasn't the person that Grandma Ruth had in mind."

"No, he wasn't. She opposed the match bitterly, but we defied her, and…married. He died shortly thereafter, in the Titanic disaster, and some months later, Christopher was born. But after he died, I couldn't go back to Mother. She wouldn't have allowed it—not then, anyway. I went to live with your father, as a caretaker for you and Mary, and didn't see my mother again until Christopher was twelve years old. She thought I had died in the sinking, until she saw my picture in a magazine."

"How sad. At least you found each other then, though." She paused, thinking. "Did she approve of your marrying Dad? She didn't seem unhappy…"

"Yes, she approved. But by that time things were different. She was no longer afraid to work for a living, or so intent upon my marrying a man of our society. Back when I married Christopher's father, she might well have rejected your father as a potential suitor, even if he had been as wealthy as he was when we married, which he wasn't. Mother had strong feelings about 'new money'."

"Why?"

"It was the way people of our society were taught to believe…that people who had earned their own fortune, and worked for a living, were crass and not as refined as we were. Perhaps not, but they were often more open than us, more willing to try new things and take chances. That was how they became wealthy—that, and a lot of luck." She hugged Nadia as the young woman fidgeted. "Nadia, what I'm trying to say is that things won't always work out as you would like—but whatever happens, there's good in it. Maybe things will work out with Sam. Maybe they won't. There's no guarantees. Just think for yourself, and don't let anyone else make your choices for you—not your father, not your grandmother, and not me or anyone else. I don't think that your father is as against the idea as you might think—if he were so concerned with not letting in people who are different from him, he wouldn't have taken you in. But he did, all those years ago—and I don't think he ever regretted it. I remember the first time that you spoke after I came to live with you, and how pleased he was when you ran up to him with Mary, both of you calling him daddy. He accepted you as a member of his family—he adopted you about the time that the three of you became citizens. I don't think that he'd object to Sam if he knew him. Perhaps you should invite Sam over to meet him—for dinner, maybe."

"Grandma wouldn't like that."

"There's a lot of things your grandmother doesn't like, but she usually comes around once she gets used to the idea. It's up to you, of course—and Sam—but I think that your father would be more accepting of the idea that there is something between the two of you—whatever it works out to be—if he met him. I already know Sam, and have found him to be a good, decent young man. Your father hasn't met him—but an introduction may help."

Nadia looked up at Rose, still uncertain but growing more hopeful. "I'll think about it, Mom. Do you really think that Dad would want to meet him?"

"I'm sure of it, Nadia."


	43. Chapter Forty Three

**Chapter Forty-Three**

_August 13, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Nadia paced nervously through the kitchen and living room, glancing at the front door every time she passed it. She had invited Sam to dinner, so that he would have a chance to meet her father, but the whole arrangement was making her more and more nervous. What if her father disapproved? What if John and Sam didn't get along? What would she do then?

"Nadia, sit down. You're going to wear a hole in the floor with all this pacing." Ruth closed the oven and frowned at her granddaughter.

Nadia sighed, walking back into the living room and sitting on the couch. She knew that it wouldn't do any good to tell her grandmother how nervous she was—Ruth disapproved of the whole thing, though she tried to hide it.

In truth, Nadia wasn't sure how she felt about any of it, either—she felt something for Sam, something deeper than she had felt before for anyone—but she didn't know if what she was doing was right. So many people disapproved—was it possible that they were right, that they knew something she didn't?

And yet, it felt right, in a way that Nadia instinctively understood but couldn't quite put into words. Sam was a good man, someone she could respect and trust, and perhaps even—love? That was the question she couldn't quite answer. How deep did her affection for him go? What did he feel for her? Were his feelings anything like hers? And if they did have love, could it ever work out? They came from two different worlds, and lived in a society that disapproved—sometimes more than disapproved—of such relationships.

The doorbell rang, startling her out of her reverie. She jumped up and hurried to answer it, pushing aside the yapping dog who whirled dementedly in front of the door, telling her that someone he approved of was outside.

Opening the door, she gave the half-grown mutt another shove and opened the screen door to let Sam in. "You made it!"

"Sure I did. You didn't think I'd miss the chance to meet your dad, did you?"

Nadia looked at him sheepishly. "I wasn't sure, actually. I thought my description of him might have scared you off."

He laughed, a deep, rich sound that made her spine tingle. "He doesn't sound that bad. Besides, aren't fathers usually protective of their daughters?"

Nadia laughed with him. "Yes, he is protective—though he always worried more about Mary than about me, possibly because Mary could find trouble in a convent, while I usually behaved myself."

"So he trusts your judgment then?"

"Usually," Nadia agreed. "Although this time—he does have some doubts. I don't think it's anything personal—he doesn't know you, after all—but he does know what society says. He hasn't met many Negroes—this is Iowa, and there aren't many in town—but he doesn't seem bothered by the few who are here. He hired two Negro women to work in his factory—a pair of sisters—and wasn't at all bothered by the fact that one was unmarried and the other had a husband crippled in the war who couldn't work. The one who's unmarried has a son, but he didn't hire him. He's too young, and anyway, Mom decided he was a good actor and gave him a contract—" She stopped, realizing that she was babbling. "Well…just wait until you meet him. He should be home in a few minutes…"

When John walked in about fifteen minutes later, Sam and Nadia were sitting on the couch, the dog between them, scratching the animal's belly and talking about inconsequential things. He stopped when he saw them, not sure what to say.

A delighted yip from the dog distracted him. "Get off the couch!" he ordered, coming towards the animal.

Sam jumped, about to do as John asked, until he realized that he was talking to the dog. Embarrassed, he sat back down, watching as the dog jumped down and sat eagerly at John's feet, tail thumping the floor, before jumping up on him.

"Down, Bowser," John ordered, patting the dog once on the head before pushing it away. Disappointed, the animal ran back to Sam, curling up at his feet and giving John a sad look.

Jane darted through the back door, her bare feet covered with dust and her old, worn dress grass-stained. "Daddy!" she squealed, launching herself at her father.

John greeted her with considerably more enthusiasm than he had greeted Bowser. Setting down his briefcase, he picked her up, tossing her into the air once before catching her and giving her a greeting hug. Jane giggled in delight.

Setting her down, he watched her grab his briefcase by the handle and drag it toward the corner where he left it when he was at home. It had become a daily ritual—she would put away his briefcase, but not before opening it and getting out the piece of candy he brought her each day. She wasn't allowed to eat it until after dinner, but that didn't spoil the fun.

Rose came down the stairs, Peter in her arms and an old towel over her shoulder. "Welcome home, love," she told John, still patting the baby's back. Just as she reached him, the infant spit up, part of his most recent meal staining the worn fabric of the towel. Rose quickly wiped his mouth, then handed him to his father, hugging her husband while Peter looked over his father's shoulder at Sam and Nadia, giving them a grin that showed his few teeth.

Nadia glanced at Sam, a little embarrassed by the chaos. "Welcome to the Calvert household," she told him.

XXXXX

John finally got a chance to talk to Sam at dinner, which was served shortly thereafter. Ruth, Rose, and Nadia had each cooked something for the meal, a custom the three women had developed for guests, and even Ruth was polite, although she still cast disapproving glances at Sam and Nadia when she thought no one was looking. Still, politeness to guests—whether she liked them or not—had been ingrained in her since she was a little girl, and her disapproval of the relationship between her granddaughter and the colored man did not prevent her from treating Sam with cool politeness.

Sam was visibly nervous, dropping his fork on the floor and sloshing milk on the tablecloth when he picked up the glass. Jane giggled, while Bowser sat at his feet, hoping that something good would fall his way.

John stared at Sam—and at the milk spill on the expensive tablecloth—until Rose elbowed him in the side, whispering that he probably wouldn't be so nervous if John stopped staring at him.

Finally, John spoke to him. "So, you're the young man my daughter has been seeing."

"Uh…yes, sir…uh…Mr. Calvert."

"Your name is Sam?"

He nodded. "Sam Blass."

John tried to think of something to say to break the ice. "That sounds like an actor's name."

"It's my real name," Sam told him, a bit defensively. He hadn't been acting for long, but he had learned what a stage name was.

"Yes—so Mrs. Calvert and Nadia say." He stopped, not sure what to say. He had never had a problem speaking to the boys that Mary, and occasionally Nadia, had brought home while they were in high school, but those had been adolescents, almost still children, whom his daughters had taken a liking to. He had been able to gauge their intentions almost immediately, and had warned several of them off, much to the dismay and embarrassment of his daughters. Sam was a grown man—the first Nadia had brought to meet him—and he knew that this was far more serious than any adolescent infatuation.

Finally, he decided to get right to the point. "What are your intentions toward my daughter?"

"Dad!" Nadia hissed, her face turning red. Why did he always have to embarrass her when she liked a young man?

"Well…uh…she's an excellent teacher, and…"

"But what are your intentions?"

Sam looked at his plate, not sure what to say.

"Are you courting my daughter?"

Nadia buried her face in her hands, embarrassed at the old-fashioned word. It sounded like Sam was trying to win her hand in marriage—which had never yet come up in their conversations.

Sam looked at his plate for a moment longer, then decided that the truth was the best way to go. "Yes, sir. I am."

Nadia looked up at him in surprise. Was that really how he felt? Did he really want to be more than friends, more than teacher and student?

"You understand, don't you, that Nadia has a future that involves more than just taking care of home and children?"

"Yes. She's told me about college, and about her plans to become a teacher."

"And you won't try to interfere with her plans?"

"No, of course not. I don't think she'd let me even if I wanted to."

John nodded. Nadia was nothing if not stubborn, and he didn't think that she would let anyone stand in her way, no matter how much she liked that person.

"Nadia is a fine young woman," Sam added, wondering if he was saying too much, but wanting to let her father know how he felt.

"Yes, she is," Ruth responded from the end of the table. Everyone turned to look at her. "And you'd best treat her well, and with respect, as she deserves. She's my granddaughter, and worthy of no less."

Everyone stared at Ruth, who simply glared back and returned to her meal, ignoring the surprised looks.

"Well," Rose said after a moment. "I think that's as close as you're going to get to her approval, Sam. Thank you, Mother."

"Humph." Ruth just looked at Rose for a moment before concentrating upon her dinner again. She didn't approve, and probably never would, but she realized that she had no say in the matter, and that it was best to just accept the situation. But she could still warn Sam off if he had any dishonorable intentions toward her granddaughter.

Rose put a hand over her mouth, smothering a laugh. Ruth's reaction to Sam reminded her uncannily of her mother's reaction to Jack nineteen years earlier. She disapproved, but she was too polite to say so openly. In this case, however, she had no choice but to accept the situation, no control over what Nadia did or over what John and Rose thought. She hadn't really had as much control over Rose all those years before as she had thought, either, but here she didn't even have the illusion of control.

John finally spoke again. "If you want to court my daughter, or date, as she calls it, you have my approval. I'm not entirely comfortable with this situation, but you seem to be a decent young man, better than some she's taken an interest in." He looked at Nadia, who had narrowed her eyes at him at the remark about some of her previous boyfriends. "You'd better treat her right, though. If I ever hear that you've treated her wrongly…I'm sure I don't have to describe the consequences to you."

"Dad!" Nadia hissed again, her face flaming. "Do you plan on taking a shotgun to him?"

"Only if he mistreats you, Nadia. However…" He paused, gathering his thoughts. "I would recommend that you be discreet, and be careful. Most people will merely disapprove, or ignore things completely, but there are some…who believe that their ideas are the right ones, and will do anything to force others to agree with them."

Sam and Nadia both nodded. "I think we've both met some of them over the years," Nadia remarked.

"There are some in this town who disapprove, and who might hurt you if they thought they could get away with it," John elaborated. "There's a small but dangerous group of the Ku Klux Klan in this town, in case you didn't know. So far, they've settled for posturing and making threats, but you never know when they might go too far, and the threats might spill over into violence. They might have some support, too, from people who…disapprove…of the relationship you two are forming. One of them works for Anders Cedar Rapids—at least one of them—and he harassed the two Negro women who work in the factory until I threatened to fire him. Some of them have sent nasty letters to Blue Rose, too, and tried to boycott the pictures. Not that they were very successful—the people of Cedar Rapids are proud of having a movie studio here, and flock to see the latest motion pictures it turns out, especially those who are in them. But Rose has had to hire extra security to make sure that no one harms the actors or crews, and that no one vandalizes the studio or destroys any of the sets or film."

Sam nodded, knowing what John was talking about. He had noticed the extra security, and he knew that there was a faction of the Klan in town—it was a matter of self-preservation to know such things. He felt that they were more likely to attack him than Nadia—she was, after all, white, and the daughter of John and Rose Calvert, both of whom were very influential in town. But he also knew that caution was called for, no matter what. He didn't want to stop seeing Nadia, but if it was a matter of their safety…

"I'm not telling you that you shouldn't date," John told them. "But I do want you to be careful. There are some people here who could hurt you, and wouldn't hesitate if they thought they were right. Do as you please…but be discreet. I don't want either of you getting hurt."

Nadia nodded, recognizing the wisdom of her father's words. "I know, Dad. Thank you. And we will be careful. I promise."


	44. Chapter Forty Four

**Chapter Forty-Four**

_August 18, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Nadia strolled through the yard toward the mailbox, fanning herself against the summer heat. In two days, she would be returning to Mississippi to complete her final year of college.

For a change, she wasn't looking forward to it. She loved school, loved learning new things, but she would miss Sam. It had been a wonderful summer, in spite of the uncertain beginnings of their relationship.

She had invited him to visit her in Mississippi, but he had refused, as she had known he would. Sam had been to Mississippi before, and his experiences there had not been pleasant. He had no intention of returning, not even to see Nadia. He planned to stay in Cedar Rapids and make another picture, as Rose had given him a contract.

Nadia sighed, a bit wistfully, as she reached the mailbox. Wiping the metal handle with a damp cloth in an attempt to cool it, she opened the mailbox and took out the stack of envelopes.

She wasn't looking forward to the heat and humidity of Mississippi, either, she thought as she wandered back toward the house. For all that Cedar Rapids was hot in the summer, it was far more pleasant than Mississippi, though she preferred Mississippi's winters to Iowa's.

Pushing her thoughts of the weather from her mind, she set the stack of mail on the kitchen table and sorted through it, picking out the letters, bills, junk mail, and other items that had arrived. Rose was looking for new actors, judging from the number of letters addressed to her, and John had the usual stack of business mail. There were letters from both Mary and Christopher, which she set aside from the others. Those would be fun to read; her sister and stepbrother always had interesting news.

There was a letter for her from the college, which she set aside to read later, and a dusty envelope with no return address. She looked at it, puzzled, wondering who it was from.

It was addressed to her in messy handwriting, so messy that she could hardly read it. She frowned, looking at it. The only person she knew well who wrote poorly was Sam, but what he did write was very precise, the letters neat and straight as though to make up for his lack of skill at writing.

Pulling a letter opener from a high shelf, she opened it, her eyes widening at the message.

_Yu ar a whit slot. Sty way form the niger, or we wil lin—link—lynh—strung him up._

The letter was unsigned. Nadia stared at it, appalled and a little amused. Several words were crossed out, and whoever had written it couldn't spell. Still, the message was clear. Someone disapproved of her relationship with Sam, and was threatening him. They had received threats before, usually from someone who wanted them to leave their establishment, but none had sent her a letter before.

She wondered who it was from, then shrugged, deciding that it didn't matter. It wasn't likely that anyone would act on such a threat, even if they wanted to. Few people wanted to cross the Calverts—they had the power and influence to make people's lives miserable, though they seldom did.

Dismissing the message, Nadia crumpled the piece of paper and tossed it into the stove, turning her attention to the letter from her college.

It was a mistake she wouldn't make twice.


	45. Chapter Forty Five

**Chapter Forty-Five**

_August 19, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Rose sat in the rocking chair in the living room, cradling Peter in her arms and humming soothingly to him. Her youngest child was irritable in the summer heat, and the fact that he was teething didn't make him any happier. Nadia was always able to soothe him, but she was going out with Sam tonight, and Rose didn't want to hand the baby over to her when she had other things to think about. The fretful infant might spit up on her, and would almost certainly scream when she left.

The baby whimpered as the doorbell rang, startling him out of his light doze. Rose patted his back soothingly, wiping his face with a damp, cool cloth as she went to answer the door.

Sam stood at the door, looking a little nervous. It was the first time he had taken Nadia out since John had given his permission, and he was a little uncomfortable coming right up to her house to fetch her for a night on the town. Had Nadia been a member of his own race, he wouldn't have been so nervous, but he knew how society in general regarded a relationship between a white woman and a Negro man, and even John's grudging approval and Rose's outright acceptance didn't make it easier. But he wanted to be with Nadia, and she wouldn't stand for sneaking around and keeping things secret—not when she had her family's approval.

"Sam!" Rose greeted him, smiling. Peter squirmed in her arms, his whimpers ceasing as he caught sight of Sam and stared at him with wide eyes. "Come in. Have a seat. Nadia will be with you shortly." She wondered what was taking Nadia so long. Usually, her stepdaughter was ready to go long before Sam made an appearance, and rushed out to meet him before anyone could say a word.

Nodding to Sam, Rose made her way up the stairs, Peter fussing again in her arms. The baby had taken a liking to Sam the night he had come to dinner, and Rose was tempted to let Sam hold him in hopes that he would calm down. Still, Sam looked so nervous, she didn't want to further burden him by putting him in charge of a fussy infant.

When she reached the top of the stairs, Rose moved swiftly to Nadia's door. She knocked, hearing a crash as something fell on the floor, and then Nadia's voice responded.

"Come in."

Rose opened the door slowly, her eyes widening at the sight of Nadia kneeling on the floor, trying to collect the contents of her cosmetics case, which she had dropped when Rose had knocked. But it wasn't the sight of the spilled makeup that had caught Rose's attention; it was the sight of the amount of makeup that Nadia was wearing.

Setting Peter on her hip, Rose knelt down beside Nadia to help her clean up. The baby immediately brightened, then began to wail in earnest when his mother kept a firm grip on him, not allowing him to go to his sister.

"Sam's here," Rose told her stepdaughter, handing her a cracked container of blush. Nadia had already applied so much of the stuff that she looked like a painted doll.

"Already?" Nadia jumped up, looking at the clock.

"He's five minutes late getting here. What's wrong, Nadia? Usually, you're ready to see him long before he gets here."

"I'm trying to look my best."

Rose eyed her heavy makeup. "I think you'd look better if you wiped some of that off. You're going on a date, not a movie set."

Nadia looked at herself in the mirror. "I don't know…"

"You never fussed so much about makeup before," Rose told her, handing her the wailing infant. The boy quieted, staring at his sister's heavily painted face with interest.

"We haven't been on a…on an official date before. I mean, we've gone places, and studied together and everything, but it was never…I don't know…approved of by Dad before. It's…I don't know…different now."

"How so?"

Nadia stared at her stepmother, at a loss for words. "It just is."

"Does Sam expect you to be different because your father approves?"

"Yes…no…I don't know…he's treated me the same as always when I've been tutoring him…but I'm leaving tomorrow."

"And?"

"And I don't want him to forget me."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "Small chance of that, I think, but Nadia…you aren't planning something inappropriate, are you?"

Nadia blushed at Rose's implication. "No, Mom! I mean—I've still got another year of college to go, and…well…things happen."

Rose nodded. Things did indeed happen—that was how she'd gotten Christopher.

"Just be sure that nothing…untoward…happens, Nadia. You'll be back for Thanksgiving, and if things are meant to work out between you and Sam, he'll be waiting for you then. If not…it's best to stay out of trouble."

"I know, Mom. I'm not going to do something I shouldn't and risk everything I've worked for."

"That's good, Nadia." Rose took Peter back, sighing as the baby began to fret again. "Now, wipe about two-thirds of that makeup off your face and come downstairs. Don't keep Sam waiting too long."

XXXXX

Sam sat in the living room, jiggling one leg nervously. He stopped, trying to act indifferent, as Ruth came into the room and sat down in a chair across from him, fixing him with an unfriendly, disapproving gaze.

Sam tried to ignore her, but his eyes kept drifting back to the older woman, whose disapproving gaze seemed to burn right through him. Finally, he looked directly at her.

"Is there something you need, ma'am?" he asked, trying to hide how uncomfortable she made him.

"You're taking my granddaughter out tonight, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I would prefer if you didn't." Ruth's tone of voice made it clear that it wasn't a request.

Sam thought about arguing with her, then thought better of it. "It's up to Nadia if she wants to go on a date with me."

"You should never have set eyes on her."

"She was hired to teach me to read and write…"

"Yes. I know. That was my daughter's decision. There have been times when she was very foolish, and this was one of them."

"Nadia is a very good teacher…"

"Who should finish her education and teach children. Not the likes of you."

"She didn't have to accept the job."

"How many people are willing to pass up a job in times like these?"

"Not many," Sam admitted, "but I don't think that she really needed the money, coming from a family like this."

"Is that what you think?" Ruth's eyes narrowed. "I come from old money, and in my day you would never have crossed my doorstep unless you were doing the most menial of work. This family used to be wealthy, and in those days my granddaughter would never have had a reason to accept a job teaching you." She sniffed disdainfully. "It's a credit to her that you learned anything at all."

"Yes, it is. She knows what she's doing. She'll be a great teacher one day—"

"I thought I was already a great teacher," Nadia interrupted, coming into the living room with Rose following close behind.

"You are," Rose told her, giving Ruth a warning look. She had overheard the end of the conversation and knew exactly what her mother was up to.

Ruth rose stiffly from her chair. "Excuse me," she told them, holding her head high and walking up the stairs.

Rose stared after her, her eyes narrowing. "She makes me so angry sometimes…" She turned to Sam and Nadia, shaking her head. "Have a good evening, you two. Take care."

"We will, Mom." Nadia took Sam's arm and headed for the door, only to be stopped by Rose, who pointed to her chin.

Nadia gave her a puzzled look, then wiped her chin, blushing a little as her fingers came away covered with lipstick. Rubbing her fingers to wipe it away, she gave Rose a grateful look, then hurried out the door, Sam following close behind.

XXXXX

Sam and Nadia walked slowly down the dusty road in the direction of Nadia's home, enjoying the cool evening breeze. They had gone to dinner at a small establishment that didn't mind having Sam for a patron, and then gone to the movie theater to see the picture that Polly had directed. The picture that Rose had cast Sam in was not yet finished, but she anticipated that it would probably be ready for the theaters around Thanksgiving—just in time for Nadia to come home.

Nadia smiled to herself, thinking about seeing Sam on the silver screen. He would look wonderful, she was sure. Perhaps it would even make people more approving of her relationship with Sam, she hoped. After all, how could a woman be expected to resist such a handsome face?

As they came to the bend in the road that would take them the last half-mile to Nadia's home, they stopped, not wanting to go back just yet. Nadia would be leaving on the train the following afternoon, and they wouldn't see each other until she returned home for Thanksgiving. They had already promised to write, but it wasn't the same.

It was late, but Nadia still looked around to be sure that no busybodies were watching as Sam pulled her close. She smiled at him, glad to have a few minutes alone with no one watching, disapproving or not. Tilting her head back, she looked at him in the moonlight, eyes sparkling.

He was going to kiss her. She knew it. He had never kissed her before, but there was something about the moonlight, about the cool, pleasant night…she stretched upwards as he lowered his mouth toward hers, relishing the warm, private moment of their first kiss.

It was all too short. Caught up in one another, neither Sam nor Nadia had heard the cars coming down the road in their direction, nor did they notice when they pulled to a stop not far from them—but they did notice when one of the car doors slammed, and a voice rang out.

"There they are!"

Startled, they jumped apart, turning in alarm as several men in white robes and hoods rushed toward them.

"Run!" Sam shouted, pushing Nadia out of the way and turning to face the Klan members himself.

"No!" Nadia grabbed his hand, determined not to leave him to their attackers. "It's not far…we can make it!"

She started to run, pulling Sam along, but it was only moments before the hooded men caught up them, yanking them apart. Two of them grabbed Sam and dragged him in the direction of the cars, laughing at his attempts to get free. Someone else made a remark about lynching, drawing vicious laughter from the others.

Nadia stood frozen in place, not sure what to do. She wanted to help Sam, she wanted to run…the choice was taken out of her hands as one of the men grabbed her and pushed her to the ground, slapping her as she tried to struggle free.

"No!" Nadia cried, kicking out. He grunted in pain as she caught his shin, giving her enough time to raise a hand and yank his hood loose.

He cursed, yanking it back into place, then hit her again, harder. She tasted blood as her lip split from the blow. She tried to scream, but he clamped his hand over her mouth, turning her scream into a barely audible whimper.

Another man came up to them, his posture showing anger.

"No! Don't touch her! Her father will have us all lynched."

"She's nothing but a slut!" Nadia's attacker raised his head for a moment, his hand loosening over her mouth.

He yowled in pain as she jerked away from his grip, sinking her teeth into his hand and biting deep.

"She can identify you! She pulled off your hood, and those bite marks are dead giveaways! Nobody will do anything about the nigger, but her…"

"Let's get out of here!" The drivers of the cars were back in their seats, ready to go, a bound and gagged Sam in the closer car.

"Goddammit!" Nadia's attacker got to his feet, giving her a shove. He followed the other man to the cars and they jumped in, speeding away before Nadia could run more than a few towards them.

Nadia chased after them for a moment, then stopped, realizing that it was hopeless. She saw a few lights on in houses, a few faces staring out from windows, but no one seemed inclined to do anything.

She couldn't stop them herself. She didn't even know where they were going. Whirling around, Nadia ran towards the only place where she might find help—her own home, half a mile away.


	46. Chapter Forty Six

**Chapter Forty-Six**

_August 19, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Nadia raced down the street, breathing hard. Her long, black hair whipped around her face as she ran, desperate to get home in time to try to do something to save Sam. She had a good idea of what those hooded men intended to do, and although she had never actually witnessed a lynching, she had read and heard enough about them to know what one was. If something wasn't done, and quickly, she would never see him again—not alive, anyway.

Her feet pounding on the steps, Nadia got to the front door and reached into her skirt pocket for the key, then banged frantically on the door when she realized that the key was missing. At some point, either during her struggles with the hooded man or when she had run home, the key had fallen from her pocket.

A moment later, John opened the door, his face a mixture of anger and concern—anger that someone was bothering the family in the middle of the night, and concern that something was wrong.

His anger faded immediately when he saw Nadia's terrified face, her hair hanging loosely and her once-pristine white blouse torn and dirty. Shocked, he pulled her into the house and closed the door behind her.

"They took Sam!" Nadia gasped, her voice panicked.

"Who took Sam?" Rose asked, hurrying down the stairs with a wailing Peter in her arms. At the top of the stairs, Jane screeched and struggled, trying to free herself from her grandmother's restraining arms.

"The—the Klan. They attacked us around the bend in the road…everybody watched, but nobody tried to help…and while one of them attacked me, the others grabbed Sam, tied him up, and drove off with him!"

"What?" John raked a hand through his silver-streaked hair, unable to believe he was hearing this.

"I recognized the man who attacked me…it was your head foreman, Dad…I pulled his hood off, and I recognized him…James Saunders, who you've had to take to task so many times for abusing the workers."

Nadia flinched at the look of rage on her father's face. "Nadia, what did he do to you? Did he hurt you?"

Nadia shook her head vehemently. "No…no, he didn't do anything. He just pushed me down on the pavement…and then I pulled off his hood…and I bit him…"

John looked at her, slightly relieved. That explained the blood spots on her blouse, but…

"Do you know where they took him?" he demanded.

"No. I tried to chase after them, but there's no way I could keep up with a car…"

"Someplace accessible by car, then."

"They were talking about lynching him!" Nadia voice rose. "They had to have gone somewhere where they could…could…Dad, we've got to do something! We've got to stop them! If it's not too late already…"

"It could be too late, Nadia." Ruth came down the stairs, a subdued Jane on her hip. "They could hurt you, too, if you go after them."

"I have to try, Grandma. Dad…Dad knows at least one of them…and he has a lot of influence in this town…that's why one man stopped the foreman from attacking me."

Ruth shook her head. "Nadia, these things happen all the time. You knew when you got involved with him what could happen."

Nadia turned to her, her eyes growing cold. "You sound like you want something to happen to him, Grandma."

Rose thrust the wailing baby into Ruth's arms. "Mother, if you had anything to do with this…"

"I most certainly did not!" Ruth's voice was indignant. "Do you honestly think that I would do something that would harm my granddaughter? I tried to warn him away, but none of you were listening."

"Why did you try to warn him away, Mother? Is it just because you don't like Sam, or did you know something was going to happen?"

Ruth hesitated. "I…"

It was the answer Rose needed. "You know something, Mother. I know you do. Tell us what it is, or so help me God, you'll never see me or your grandchildren again."

"Rose!"

"Tell us, Mother. Maybe it will absolve you of your previous sins…like the time you let an innocent man be framed for robbery and locked up in a sinking ship."

John and Nadia turned to stare at Ruth, mouths agape. Nadia spoke first.

"Grandma…if you know anything, you have to tell us! I know you don't approve of Sam, but that doesn't matter. I'm an adult. I can make my own decisions about who to see…and I'll tear this town apart looking for him if I have to."

Ruth looked from one angry face to the other, her own face reddening. "Fine!" she spat. "I do know something!"

"What is it?"

"I was walking home from the market today when I passed by a house with an open window where several men were arguing loudly. I heard Sam and Nadia's names mentioned, so I stopped and listened. I couldn't see who they were, but they said something about taking Sam if the two of them went out tonight, and taking him to the river…"

"And lynching him?" Nadia asked.

"I don't know. I hurried away after I'd heard that much."

"Then why didn't you tell us?" Nadia demanded.

"I tried to warn him off!"

"It would have been a lot better if you'd told us outright. We never would have gone to town tonight if we'd known."

"I didn't know for sure."

"But you suspected, Mother, and you kept silent. Now a good man may die because you couldn't be bothered to tell anyone what you heard."

"Rose…"

"Not now, Mother. We'll discuss this later. For now, we're going to go and find Sam."

"You can't be serious!"

"I am, Mother. I once risked my life to save another's on a sinking ship, and I'll be damned if I'll just sit back and watch someone else die." She turned on her heel, stalking toward the tall, locked cabinet in the living room. "Open this for me, John."

Casting a warning look at Ruth, John retrieved the key from under a chair and opened the cabinet, revealing several firearms. One was left from his days in the war, a vicious, bayoneted rifle that hadn't been taken back when he was sent home to America after being injured.

He grabbed that one, then handed a smaller, western-style gun to Rose. It was one that she had used in two different pictures and had kept as a souvenir. She had only fired blanks with it—when she had used it at all—but it was a real gun, and if loaded with bullets was just as deadly as any non-prop gun.

"Rose, you can't go after them like that!" Ruth argued. "You've never really fired that."

"I know how to use a gun, Mother," Rose responded. "Cal liked target shooting and hunting, and he taught me what he knew. He did it as a joke—he didn't think I could—but I proved a far better marksman than he could ever be." She had never told anyone about the way that Cal had tried to shoot her and Jack on the sinking Titanic—and she wasn't going to start now. She had just been lucky that he had rarely been able to hit a moving target.

"Rose, you have two young children at home…"

"I'll be fine, Mother. You watch them while we go after Sam." She loaded her gun quickly, tucking more ammunition into the pocket of her robe. There was no time to change. "I just pray to God that we're not too late!"


	47. Chapter Forty Seven

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

_August 20, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

The three adult Calverts piled into the car, driving off so fast that they left a cloud of dust in their wake. Ruth watched them go, cradling Peter against her shoulder while Jane clung to the skirt of her robe. Worried, she watched until the headlights of the car had disappeared.

It was true that she didn't like Sam—more because he had taken an interest in Nadia than for any other reason—but she didn't truly wish him harm, though she knew that Rose would never believe that. She had tried to warn him away, but she hadn't truly believed that the men she had overheard talking would really do anything. After all, Nadia was John Calvert's daughter and Rose Calvert's stepdaughter, and the amount of power they wielded in Cedar Rapids was considerable.

But fools abounded in any place, and the men who had attacked Sam and Nadia had gone too far. Even if they succeeded in their goal of lynching Sam, they were finished in this town. They might be able to hide their identities—except for James Saunders—but they would never be able to openly be members of the Klan again. John and Rose would use their considerable influence—and money, since Blue Rose was a financial success even in the midst of the depression—to make sure that they couldn't do such a thing again. They might be able to operate in secret, but it was a small town, and if they were ever discovered, it could make their lives very difficult.

Ruth went back into the house, nudging Jane along when she balked. She didn't wish harm to come to Sam, but she wasn't terribly concerned for him, either. If something happened to him, Nadia would get over it eventually—but she did worry about what the night might bring to her daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter. They were well-known, powerful, and well-liked in town, but desperate men sometimes did desperate things, and she feared for the safety of her family.

XXXXX

The Calverts rushed through the night, looking out the windows for any sign of the men they were pursuing. The car bounced and jolted over the unpaved road outside of town, sending them bouncing from their seats more than once and forcing them to hold on tight.

Nadia clung to the window frame with one hand, her other hand wrapped tightly around the handle of a kitchen knife. She had wanted to carry a gun like her parents, but her father had flatly refused, telling her that a gun in inexperienced hands was too dangerous.

It was true that she had never fired a gun, not even at a target, but it didn't seem to be so difficult. She had seen it done in the moving pictures, including some that Rose had been in. It appeared simple and straightforward—just point and shoot—but neither her father nor her stepmother would back down. She had finally grabbed a kitchen knife, not at all sure that she would have the courage to use it if she had to, but determined to defend her love.

Nadia had finally realized just how deep her feelings for Sam ran when he had been taken away. She didn't know if he returned her feelings, but she would do whatever it took to defend him—even if it got her sent to prison or killed. She shuddered at the thought, but remained resolved.

As they neared the place that they thought Sam might be, they saw the light of torches burning in the distance, and were slowed by a group of men heading determinedly up the road, armed with everything from shotguns to pitchforks.

As the car jolted to a stop and the Calverts climbed out, Nadia recognized one of the men as an old boyfriend of hers from high school with whom she had remained friends over the years. He had roundly approved of her relationship with Sam, even greeting them in a friendly manner when others had held back.

"Jake!" she called, the knife still clutched at her side as she rushed toward him.

"Nadia! What are you doing out here? It's dangerous! Don't you know what's happening?"

"That's why we're here." Nadia glanced over her shoulder as John and Rose hurried after her, their faces grim. "Why are you out here?"

"We saw them come past—they had to stop because one of them blew a tire, and then I recognized Sam when he got away from them for a minute. I couldn't just sit back and let things happen, so I rounded up a few of the boys and came after them."

"I don't like niggers," one of the men with him added, "but I like the Klan even less. They don't like anybody who's not them."

Nadia recognized the man vaguely. He was new in town, but she'd seen him around on occasion. He was hard to miss with his heavy accent—and immigrants were another group that the Klan frequently went after.

There was a cheer from the torch lit area ahead, followed by what sounded like a grandiose speech echoing through the still night air. It was impossible to make out precisely what was being said, but the group on the road turned as one and headed in the direction of the lights.

John grabbed Nadia's arm, trying to keep her from following. "This is turning into a mob!"

"It already was a mob!" Nadia argued, breaking free of his grip and running after the others. John turned to Rose, but she was already following Nadia, her hand on the gun tucked into her pocket. Unable to restrain either his wife or his daughter, John followed them, the rifle with its deadly bayonet at his side.

They reached the small clearing surrounded by trees just as one of the Klan members tossed the end of a rope over a high branch and secured it, the other end looped around Sam's neck in a noose.

"No!" Nadia cried, rushing forward at the sight of him balancing precariously on the edge of a stump, ready to fall with a single push.

All of the white-robed figures turned to stare at her. Some had noticed the mob approaching and had slipped into the shadows, but most had been more concerned with the entertainment at hand and had paid no attention to the sounds of footsteps and voices approaching, some supposing that it was members of their own group and others not expecting anyone to investigate the source of the lights.

"Nadia!" Sam called, his voice hoarse against the already tight noose. "Get away from here! They'll hurt you!"

"I don't care! I'm not going to let them hang you! You haven't done anything wrong!"

Several of the robed men murmured angrily at this assertion, but stopped when they saw the size of the group backing Nadia up—and the fact that they were armed. Few of the Klansmen were armed tonight, and most were more comfortable fighting with people who weren't in a position to defend themselves—or identify them.

John and Rose pushed their way to the front of the group, sending most of the Klansmen backing away at the sight of their guns—and especially at the sight of the bayonet on John's rifle. The man standing beside Sam, ready to push him from the stump, did not back down.

John looked from one hooded face to the next, wondering which one was his soon-to-be past foreman. "Saunders!" he shouted, hoping to draw him out.

The man standing beside Sam flinched, startled. John turned towards him, aiming his rifle at the man. It had been years since he had used it, but he still knew how to aim. As he did so, he saw that the man's hand was bandaged—perhaps from being bitten.

"That's him, Dad!" Nadia affirmed, remembering which hand she'd bitten.

"Saunders, let him go." John's voice brooked no argument.

The hooded man wasn't willing to listen, though. "I'm not Saunders," he told him, but his voice cracked nervously on the name.

"You're fired," John told him, the rifle never wavering. "And that's not all you're going to be if you don't let him go now."

"You'll go to the electric chair if you shoot me," he blustered, showing more bravado than he felt.

"You attacked my daughter. There's not a court in this state that will convict me for defending her." John wasn't sure about that, but he did know that juries were sympathetic to such circumstances.

"You wouldn't dare." Saunders had given up trying to hide who he was. "You don't have the guts. You let your workers unionize and do what they want—"

"I used this all through the war," John interrupted him. "And my business practices have nothing do to with what's happening now."

"I'll let him go—if you keep me on."

"I've been tempted to fire you more than once. You just gave me the perfect excuse. There's plenty of others who would be glad to take your place."

Saunders moved a little closer to Sam, ready to kick his feet out from under him. "And what about my wife and kids?"

"Your wife's welcome to work for either of us—if there's an opening. You should have thought of that before you did this."

"You're morally bankrupt! Letting your slut of a daughter run around with a nigger—"

John's finger tightened on the trigger, but Rose placed a calming hand on his arm. "Don't do it!" she whispered. "Not unless he threatens you. He's a son of a bitch—but you don't need to go to prison over him."

Saunders opened his mouth to say something else, but at that moment an ominous groaning and cracking noise came from the tree above him, followed by Sam tumbling to the ground and a smaller figure plunging from the tree.

XXXXX

Nadia was pushed back into the crowd as her parents came forward, her father shoving her out of harm's way. In the angry, milling crowd, no one noticed as she slipped to the edge of the mob, the knife still clutched in her hand.

It wasn't going to work, she was sure. Her father would never be able to threaten and cajole Saunders into giving up his hard-won victim. Something had to be done directly.

Crouching down in the grass and bushes, Nadia crept slowly towards the tree that Sam stood beneath, his eyes wide and terrified as he waited to be pushed from the stump. Even with most of the Klan members distracted, there was no way he could wiggle loose and slip away.

Almost lying on the ground, Nadia crept forward, gasping as something swiftly crawled over her and into the darkness beyond, then clamped her mouth shut. She couldn't afford to be caught and stopped.

When she reached the back of the tree, she stood slowly, pressing against it so as not to be seen. The trunk of the tree was slender, but not so slender that she couldn't hide behind it if she pressed close. Looking at the branches above, she reached for one, wondering if she could still climb. She and Mary had often climbed trees as children, but that had been a long time ago, and she was no longer a young child.

But she had to try. Gripping the branch firmly with one hand, she pulled herself up, trying to use the other hand as well, even with the knife clutched in it. Clinging to the branch, she pulled herself up amongst the limbs, glad for the foliage that hid her from sight.

After a moment, Nadia realized that trying to climb would be much simpler without the knife in her hand. Copying something she had read about, she put the knife blade in her teeth, then quickly switched to the handle, afraid both of cutting herself and of dropping it.

She soon found that holding a knife in her teeth was easier said than done. It slipped, knocking painfully against her teeth, and soon grew slippery with saliva. Nevertheless, she clenched her teeth around it and continued climbing, finally reaching the branch that the rope was supported by.

It quickly became apparent that she could not simply loosen the rope. It was tied tightly to another tree a few feet back—if she'd been able to see it before, she could have untied it or cut it from the ground, without the climb. But since she was there, she would do what she could.

Peering through the branches at the people in the clearing, Nadia took the handle of the knife from her teeth and wiped it on her skirt, grimacing. Then, forgetting her discomfort, she began to saw at the rope.

It was slow going. The rope was thick and sturdy, not easy to cut through, but she persisted. Her fingers grew raw from the activity, but soon she was nearly through it. Shifting her weight, she began to cut through the last fraction of an inch of rope.

It was at that moment that the branch, which had been groaning both from her weight and from the strain of the tightly stretched rope, gave a final ominous groan and then broke. Sam tumbled forward onto the ground as the damaged rope snapped, unbalanced by the sudden freedom. Nadia toppled from the tree, not even having the time to scream as she fell.

Her fall was broken when she landed on something solid but soft. Saunders grunted as she fell atop him, knocking him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him.

Before he could move or recover his breath, Nadia was on her feet, rushing to Sam. She had dropped the knife when she had fallen, and had no idea where it was, so she knelt down beside him, her nimble fingers quickly loosening the noose and slipping it from around his neck.

Saunders had finally gotten to his feet. "No!" he shouted, rushing toward Sam and Nadia. His hood had come off again, leaving his face exposed.

He stopped abruptly as a bullet whined past him, barely missing him before lodging in a tree trunk. Turning, he saw John aiming for him, ready to fire again. The only thing that saved his life was Rose's hand on her husband's arm, putting his aim off.

"I—I'll have the law on you!" he blustered, only to see Rose pull her gun from her pocket again, aiming it straight at him.

"You're not hurt," she told him calmly, "although you're very lucky. My husband would have killed or seriously injured you a moment ago if I hadn't stopped him."

Even in the flickering torchlight, they could see Saunders' face turning red with anger. "You can't do this! Can't you see that I'm trying to protect all of you from people like him?"

He pointed to Sam, who was on his feet now, waiting nervously while Nadia tried to untie his hands. He was free of the noose for now, but he wasn't sure that he wouldn't be back in it shortly.

Saunders turned to the other Klan members, then stopped short. The mob of men who had accompanied the Calverts had dispersed amongst them, deterring any who might have had the idea of causing trouble or finishing what they started. Several had already slipped away, disappearing into the night. The others showed no sign of coming to Saunders' aid.

"What are you, cowards?" he asked angrily, staring at them as two more turned and ran, not willing to face the angry, armed group.

"Yes!" Nadia answered, then shut her mouth, not wanting to start more trouble. Saunders glared at her, then looked at his rapidly shrinking group of allies.

"Go home." John's voice was clear and authoritative, the same voice that he used to manage his business and intimidate competitors. "If I ever find out who you are, I will make your lives miserable. Is that understood?" He turned his gaze on his ex-foreman. "Saunders, come to me tomorrow and I will pay you what I owe you. I should dock you for what you've done, but like you said, you've got a wife and kids. But if this should ever happen again, or anyone should harm my daughter or Sam, I'll remember that you attacked Nadia tonight—and I'll make sure that the authorities know it, too."

Saunders looked to his men once more. Then, realizing that he had no choice, he turned and walked away, his body tense with anger.

Then he yowled in pain. "Goddamn!" He jumped back, tearing the thin shoe from his bleeding foot. He had found Nadia's knife, which had flown into a thick patch of grass and landed blade up, just waiting for some unsuspecting person or animal to come along and step on it.

No one paid him the slightest heed but Nadia, who rushed toward him to retrieve the knife, then returned to Sam and began sawing away at the rope with it. She had been unable to untie his hands.

Within minutes, most of the remaining Klan members and the mob that had followed them were gone, leaving only the Calverts, Sam, and Jake in the clearing.

John and Rose rushed over to Sam and Nadia. Rose took the knife from Nadia, who was crying now and hacking at Sam's bonds, not succeeding in cutting anything but her boyfriend's thumbs.

As Rose took the sobbing Nadia in her arms and held her tight, John used the sharp blade of the bayonet to quickly slice through the rope, freeing Sam. He turned, shaking and rubbing his hands to restore circulation, then jumped back in alarm as he saw the bayonet.

John leaned the weapon against the stump, watching as Nadia pulled away from Rose and rushed to Sam, throwing her arms around him. John started go after her, but Rose stopped him, just shaking her head.

Sam sank to the ground, shaking, as delayed reaction set in. Nadia continued to cling to him.

"Don't cry. Don't cry," he whispered to her. "Everything's okay."

"I thought they were going to kill you!" Nadia sobbed, ignoring the fact that her parents were standing just a few feet away.

"They were. But I'm okay now, thanks to you."

"And my parents. And Jake and his friends." She looked around, but Jake had vanished, too, leaving them alone in the clearing.

John started to move towards them again as Nadia kissed Sam, the kiss quickly deepening as they forgot that they were being watched. Once again, Rose stopped him, simply shaking her head. The two needed to work things out for themselves.

"I love you," Nadia whispered when the kiss broke. "I realized it when they took you away. I thought I would never have the chance to tell you…" She sniffed, new tears springing to her eyes.

"Don't cry, Nadia," Sam told her, pulling her closer. More aware than her that they were being watched, he lowered his voice and whispered, "I love you, too."

Rose looked at John after hearing this declaration, gauging his reaction. He didn't look angry, just embarrassed at having witnessed it.

Finally, Rose cleared her throat. "Sam, Nadia…" she began, breaking the moment.

"Oh!" Nadia scrambled to her feet, suddenly realizing that they had heard every word. Sam stood beside her, ready to defend her if her parents disapproved.

But John only gestured to them, pointing in the direction of the car. "Let's go home."


	48. Chapter Forty Eight

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

_August 20, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

It was nearly three o'clock in the morning when the Calverts and Sam returned home, weary and shaken by the events of the night. Nadia sat in the back seat with Sam, fussing over his bruises and rope burns until he pushed her hands away in frustration.

Both Rose and Nadia knew where Sam lived, but no one, including him, was eager to make the trip across town to drop him off at home. And although he wouldn't admit it, Sam wasn't eager to be alone. He had been in tight spots before, but this was the closest he had ever come to getting killed, and he wanted to stay with the friendly, familiar faces, even if Nadia did persist in fussing over him.

When they reached the house, Jane burst out the front door, running towards the car as soon as it had stopped and throwing herself into her mother's arms. She reached out to her father, but he just patted her on the back gently, his other hand balancing the bayonet-tipped rifle and holding it as far away from other people as he could. He didn't want to injure anyone.

Ruth followed Jane outside more slowly, a brief look of relief crossing her face as she saw that everyone was safe and unhurt, even Sam. But Rose just walked past her, not even glancing in her direction, and the other Calverts followed her lead. Only Sam nodded politely to her, so glad to be alive that he was even happy to see Ruth, no matter how much she despised him.

Rose started to carry Jane up to bed, then stopped, realizing that there was no way that the anxious, overexcited child would fall asleep anytime soon. Instead, she brought her into the living room, where everyone was milling around, not sure what to say or do.

As she had many times before, Rose took charge. "Sit down, everyone," she told them, giving Jane to Nadia. She and John put their weapons away in the cabinet, John shaking his head and giving Jane a stern look when she tried to get out of Nadia's lap to see what was in the cabinet.

"Mother, go and get us some coffee," Rose told Ruth, acknowledging her for the first time since they had returned home. "Bring some milk for Jane."

"Rose…"

Rose ignored her mother, sitting down beside John and leaning wearily against him. The events of that night had been terrifying, but now that they were over, and everyone was safe, the adrenaline that had kept her and the others going was wearing off, leaving everyone but Jane and Sam sleepy. Jane was too keyed up to relax, and Sam was still anxious, not entirely convinced that he was safe.

Ruth finally came from the kitchen with the coffee and milk. Rose opened her eyes and leaned forward, gesturing to the coffee table. "Where's Peter?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she realized that her infant son was nowhere to be seen.

"He's upstairs asleep, Rose, and I suggest that you keep your voices down unless you want to wake him up."

"Mother…" Rose shook her head. "Just sit down and stay quiet. After what you did…"

"What did she do?" Sam interrupted, glancing at Ruth, who had sat down stiffly, glaring at her daughter.

"She overheard those men discussing their plans to attack us and kill you, and didn't say anything."

Ruth's head snapped in Nadia's direction. "That isn't true, Nadia. I tried to warn him off. I couldn't be sure that anything was going to happen, anyway. You know how people talk sometimes."

"Why didn't just tell us what you'd heard outright? We would have stayed here instead of going into town." Nadia set her coffee down, her eyes fixed on her grandmother. "Did you want something to happen to us, Grandma?"

"Of course not, Nadia. You know I would never do anything to hurt you."

"And Sam? Would you do something to hurt him?"

Ruth's silence was all the answer they needed.

Rose set her coffee cup down on the tray, getting to her feet and standing over Ruth. "Mother, how could you? You seem so different than you used to be, but deep inside, nothing ever changed, did it? You're no different now than you were nineteen years ago, when you let a good man be taken away into the depths of a sinking ship. He might have lived if you'd spoken up, if you'd kept Cal from having him taken away, but you just couldn't stand to see a member of your family with someone you perceived to be lower than you." It was the most she had talked about Jack in years, and she was surprised at the anger that still lingered. "You haven't changed a bit."

Ruth stood, her face only inches from her daughter's. "I don't have to sit here and listen to you talk to me this way."

"No, you don't. And as of tomorrow, you won't be here to hear it. I won't have someone who would do such things in my house anymore. I thought you'd changed, but you haven't. As of tomorrow, you can find your own home and your own job."

"And who will watch your children?"

"I'll take them to work with me. It's my business, so I guess I can bring my own children along."

"Rose…" Ruth looked at John, hoping that he would intercede, but he just glanced at his angry wife, then looked away.

"As of tomorrow morning, there'll be an opening at the factory. The job is yours, if you want it."

Rose turned and stared at her husband for a moment, her eyes narrowing, before nodding. She couldn't let her mother go hungry and homeless, no matter how angry she was with her.

Ruth stepped away from Rose. Straightening, she looked at John and nodded. "I'll take the job. What time should I be there?"

"Seven o'clock, and you work until six. Sundays are off."

"All right. I'll be there." She turned to look at her daughter. "Good night, Rose."

Head held high, Ruth marched from the room, not looking back.

There was silence for a moment, finally broken by Sam. "Mrs. Calvert?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"I…she…a lot of people feel the way she does. I don't want anyone being driven from their home because of me."

"This isn't the first time she's done something like this. It's not just you. It's anyone she thinks is lower than herself. She'll be all right. The job that she's been offered pays enough for her to live on, and she has some friends who will no doubt take her in until payday."

"Mom?" Nadia asked. "You said that Grandma had done something like this before, nineteen years ago. What—"

"It's something I'd prefer not to talk about, Nadia. It was a long time ago, and it's over. Maybe someday I'll talk about it—but not now." She glanced at John, suspecting that he had some idea of what she was talking about, but he didn't say a word, respecting her wish to keep things to herself.


	49. Chapter Forty Nine

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

_August 20, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Nadia crept quietly from her bed, putting on her robe and stepping into the hall. In spite of how late she had stayed out the night before, she was up early. She'd had trouble sleeping during the few hours she had been laying down, as had everyone else in the household, she suspected.

Her father had gotten up and left for work at the usual time. Nadia had heard him grumbling to himself as he had walked sleepily down the hall and stumbled down the stairs. She had heard Rose's voice shortly thereafter, talking on the phone to Polly at Blue Rose and telling her that she wouldn't be coming in today.

As Nadia stepped out of the bathroom, dark circles still ringing her eyes in spite of her liberal application of powder, she saw Ruth emerging from her room. Frowning, Nadia stared at her, remembering that she was supposed to have started work this morning and wondering what she was still doing there. She wasn't sure whether to speak to her or not.

She hadn't been so quick to condemn her as Rose had been. She had only known Ruth for a few years, and in that time she had always seemed to her to be a doting grandmother. She knew that Ruth and Rose didn't always get along, but even after the incident the night before, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more going on than met the eye. To be sure, Ruth didn't approve of Sam, but she didn't really seem to wish him harm, either, despite what Rose thought. She had seen how hurt Ruth had been at the accusations, and Nadia really didn't know what to think. Surely her grandmother had known that if the Klan members attacked Sam, they might hurt Nadia as well.

Ruth answered the unspoken question in Nadia's eyes. Her face stoic and unsmiling, she told her, "I'm on my way out. I'll start work tomorrow, according to your father." She stopped, not knowing what else to say.

"Grandma…" Nadia stopped. She didn't know what to say, either. Ruth had lived with her family off and on since John and Rose were married, and Nadia couldn't help but be sorry to see her go now, especially since there was no telling if Rose would ever allow her to come back. Even in light of the fact that Ruth had known about what the Klan was planning and hadn't said anything, she was still Nadia's grandmother—or at least as close to it as Elizabeth Anders in New York was. Nadia supposed that she might have grandparents elsewhere in the world, but she didn't know who they might be, or if they were even still alive. Ruth was family.

"I would never deliberately harm you, Nadia," Ruth told her. "I hope you can believe that. I don't like Sam, but…if I had seriously believed that what I'd overheard was true, rather than the talk of disgruntled men, I would have told you outright, rather than hinting at Sam to stay away from you. Please believe me."

"I don't if I can, Grandma," Nadia replied, looking at the floor and shuffling uneasily. "What happened last night was horrible, the most horrible thing I've ever seen—or at least that I can remember. I've heard some things about the Titanic, which I was on, but I don't remember any of what happened. All I know is what you, Mom, and Dad have told me. But that was a horrible accident, something no one expected—and this was deliberate. Those men tried to murder Sam. One of them tried to attack me. It wasn't any accident, and you knew that it might happen."

"Nadia, I was wrong. I should have told all of you what I'd heard. But it didn't seem that likely that anything would happen. Perhaps it was foolish of me to disregard what I heard, but…I didn't really think that they would go through with it. You know how people talk. It's a mistake I won't repeat. I know how angry you are now, but I hope that in the future you can forgive me."

"Maybe, Grandma. I can't make any promises."

Rose came out of her room, a covered pail of dirty diapers in her hand. She stopped when she saw Ruth.

"Mother, why are you still here? I thought you would be away from here and at work by now."

"I'm on my way out, Rose. John told me that the job will start tomorrow. He has to fire his old foreman and promote someone else before the job will be available."

"Where will you be staying?"

"With the Jamesons. They have an extra room in their house that they'll be glad to rent out. I called Laura Jameson early this morning. It's all arranged."

"Then good-bye, Mother. I hope you've finally learned something from this."

"More than you could ever imagine, Rose. More than you could ever imagine."

And with that, Ruth picked up her suitcase and walked down the stairs and out the front door without a backward glance.

XXXXX

After Rose had carried the malodorous bucket downstairs, Nadia walked quietly to Jane's room, opening the door slowly and peering inside. Sam was sprawled asleep on the floor, half-covered by a sheet, while Jane was curled up at his back, her security blanket clutched in one hand and her thumb stuck in her mouth. She was snoring softly.

Slowly, Nadia approached Sam, reluctant to wake him. It had been a horrible night for everyone, but most of all for him. She put a hand to her own throat, wondering what it had felt like to have the noose slipped over his head, to know that with a quick push from someone else or a slip of his feet he would die. She was just glad that they had arrived when they had—and that most of the Klan members gathered around had been so quick to slip away and leave their victim behind.

The Calverts had been reluctant to take Sam home to the rundown shack he was living in on the outskirts of town. Not only was it very late, but there no telling whether some angry, disappointed Klan member might attack him there, or even waylay the car as it made its way there. Sam had said that he could walk home, but he hadn't protested too loudly when Rose had insisted that he stay with them for the night.

Nadia had offered to let him stay in her room—of the other three bedrooms, one was occupied by John, Rose, and Peter, the second by Jane, and the third by Ruth. Rose had been angry, but not angry enough to kick Ruth out of her room on her last night there, and the living room couch was too short and lumpy for anyone to sleep peacefully on.

Both John and Rose had nixed that idea immediately, though—John not wanting his unmarried daughter to spend the night with a man, no matter how innocently, and Rose pointing out that unplanned things could happen, especially with emotions running high. Sam had been relegated to a pallet on the floor of Jane's room.

Apparently, Jane hadn't slept any better than anyone else, because she was sleeping soundly at Sam's back. Nadia wondered if Sam even realized that the child was there.

Nadia tried to walk as quietly as possible, but at the faint sound of her footsteps, Sam sat up abruptly, startling Nadia and awakening Jane. The little girl gripped Sam's arm, startling him further, and he looked around with wide, frightened eyes until he remembered where he was and who he was with.

"Nadia." He shook his head to clear it, the previous night still at the forefront of his mind. A near-lynching wasn't something he would forget quickly.

"And me." Jane's little voice came from beside him.

"And Jane." He looked around the child's room, still uneasy.

Nadia sat down on Jane's bed, drawing the cat that had been sleeping there into her lap and stroking it absently. "Sam…how are you doing this morning?" She looked more closely at him, noting the rope burns at his wrists and neck, which stood out more now than they had a few hours earlier.

"I…uh…I'm fine…I guess."

They both stopped, glancing at each other a little uncomfortably. In spite of their loving words the night before, they were nervous now, neither knowing quite how to handle the situation they had found themselves in.

Finally, Nadia cleared her throat nervously, holding a hand out to Jane, who ran over to her and crawled into her lap, displacing the cat, who sprang up with an outraged yowl and crawled under the bed, staring at its tormentors with slitted eyes.

"Sam…uh…why don't you get cleaned up and come down to the kitchen for breakfast? Grandma's left, so she won't be here to glare at you…" She trailed off, thinking about why Ruth had left.

Sam looked at the clock on Jane's wall, noting the time. "I should be going. We're filming today."

Nadia shook her head. "Mom took the day off. I don't think she'll mind if you do, too—but she's downstairs doing laundry if you want to ask her."

Sam shrugged, climbing out of the makeshift bed and beginning to fold it up. "I guess I can do that."

"She won't mind. She knows what happened…uh…last night…"

They stared at each other, wondering if they should talk about what had happened, or leave the subject alone. It was raw and painful, but eventually it had to come out.

But not just yet. Sam finished folding up the blankets and set them on the end of Jane's bed. "I'll be down soon," he told her, avoiding her eyes.

Nadia nodded, looking down at she stood up. Jane held her arms out, begging to be picked up and carried. Nadia set her on her hip, looking at her little sister instead of at Sam.

"We'll be in the kitchen when you come down…if you're hungry," she told him. "I'm sure I can find something…"

Sam nodded. "Okay." He glanced at her, and then, still uncomfortable, shuffled down the hall, limping a little from where he'd hurt his feet the night before.

Nadia watched him with concern. "Don't be too long," she called after him, settling Jane more securely in her arms and heading for the stairs.


	50. Chapter Fifty

**Chapter Fifty**

_August 20, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

The Calverts and Sam and gathered at the train station to see Nadia off as she returned to college. Nadia and Sam walked hand-in-hand, staying back a little from the elder Calverts and Nadia's younger siblings.

Rose stood beside her husband, watching the young couple uncomfortably. For once, she would be glad to see Nadia go away for a while—it would give the tensions that had risen in the family a chance to defuse. None of them objected to Nadia's relationship with Sam—not anymore—but Rose felt guilty over the way she had treated her mother the night before, and she felt betrayed by her husband for the quick way he had moved to offer Ruth a solution to her problems.

Rose didn't know how to feel over the current situation. She was angry with her mother, yes, and she had seen her do this before—but had her still all too vivid memories of Jack made her react more harshly this time than she should have? She didn't think that Ruth had truly meant any harm this time—and maybe not before, either.

Deep inside, Rose knew that she had always been too quick to jump to conclusions, not always examining the facts before she made a decision. Sometimes it had served her well to be able react quickly, but other times—like now—she found herself questioning her actions and the wisdom of them.

She knew, as did her mother, that angry people in groups often talked boldly of doing things that that they would never consider under other circumstances, and that often the plans made under such circumstances never came to fruition, or were nothing but talk in the first place.

Would she have believed the words if she had been the one to hear them? Rose didn't know. Some people had shunned her for the way she accepted any and all good actors that she could attract to Blue Rose, but others paid it no heed, and still others accepted or even openly praised the way she ran things. Certainly, it hadn't lessened the popularity of her films any.

And that may have been part of the problem, she acknowledged. Things had gone well in spite of the opposition of some—not only to her choice of actors, but also to the fact that she was an actress herself, and a successful businesswoman in a time when many men couldn't find jobs. She and John wielded a great deal of power in the small town—and that power and relative prosperity had made the whole family complacent. None of them had seriously believed that any threats made toward them could be real—and that included Ruth.

The events of the previous night had been eye-opening. In spite of the their power and prestige, people could still threaten them—and it was likely that most threats would come in the sneaky, underhanded way that the Klan members had used the night before. Not many people would threaten them openly—they were too well-known, and the town was too small for much to remain a secret.

But these were hard times, and people whose fortunes had not been so good as theirs were sometimes jealous, wishing to see those who they interpreted as standing in their way or simply representing what they hated be brought down. She and John both employed a lot of people—but they couldn't help them all, and some people would never be satisfied with what they had, wishing instead to have more—and willing to do terrible things to get what they wanted.

She knew that fewer people resented them than resented other less-compassionate employers. She and John had both worked their way up from the bottom, had seen what life was like for those less-fortunate, and did their best to make life more tolerable for those they employed and worked with. But it wasn't always enough, and she knew it. There wasn't much either of them could do, though. Greater changes than they could make would be needed to make things fair for everyone, and she didn't know if such changes could ever be brought about. All they could do was work with what they had, and try to do their best.

There was no excuse for what had happened the night before, though. No one, no matter what sort of anger they felt or grudge they held, had the right to attack others. The Klan members had been thwarted in their murder attempt the night before, but all too often they succeeded. Sam had been extraordinarily lucky to survive, and Nadia had been lucky, too—she could easily have been hurt or killed, too.

Rose hoped never to see such a thing again as long as she lived. Perhaps if she had been raised in that society, she would have understood—but her formative years had been very sheltered, and such hatred had never occurred to her. She hadn't seen many people of other races, and they almost always been servants. But people of her own race were often servants, too, so she had never learned to make any distinction. She knew now that there were disparities in pay and treatment, but she had been so entrenched in her own world growing up that none of it had ever struck her as notable.

When she had grown older, Rose had begun to try to break free from her world, but by then her impressions had already been formed, and it didn't occur to her notice differences in race. As before, she hadn't met many people who were a different race from herself, and she had been more concerned with herself than with anyone else—and she had begun to cease to care what others thought, making it less likely that such attitudes would affect her. And when she had finally set out on her own, she had been too busy trying to survive and make a life for herself to concentrate on hating others who had done nothing to her, and who she had never met.

And so Rose had never learned to understand unreasoning hatred. She saw no reason to hate or fear another person simply because they looked different from her—it was what they did that mattered. She had long since learned to read people's body language, to be wary of those who seemed too good to be true—and her judgment of people's character was seldom wrong. But when she did make mistakes, they were huge ones.

Which brought her back to the question of her mother. Had she been right in pushing Ruth from her home without allowing any explanation, any kind of argument? To be sure, her mother should have told Sam and Nadia—or at least John or Rose—what she had heard, but what reason had she had for believing that what she had overheard was anything more than the disgruntled talk of men whose lives were not going as well as they wished?

And yet, Rose couldn't overlook the fact that Ruth had stood by and said nothing when she knew that there was a chance that Sam and Nadia might be harmed. Her attempts at warning Sam away had been little more than rudeness, something that both Sam and Nadia had come to expect from her, and paid little attention to. If she had said outright what she had heard, the horrifying events of the night before might never have happened.

But did it make Rose's actions right? She couldn't get the shock on her mother's face out of her mind—or her swift, dignified exit that morning. Ruth would be all right—but would they ever be able to reconcile, even if Rose wanted to? Rose was still angry, and her pride would prevent her from admitting to Ruth that she might have been wrong. Too many emotions had been brought to the surface, both new hurts and angers and old ones, buried but still hurtful. What was done was done—perhaps irrevocably.

Rose sighed inwardly as Nadia stepped away from Sam and came toward her, leaving Sam to keep watch over her luggage while Nadia finished saying good-bye to her family. She cared for her mother; she cared for Nadia—and through her, Sam. She didn't know what to think.

Nadia threw her arms around Rose, hugging her tightly, then turned to her father. "Sam and I…we're both glad you did what you did last night. He might be dead now if you hadn't come after him."

"It was the least we could do, Nadia," Rose told her, hugging her stepdaughter in return. "We know how much Sam means to you, and he's been around so much, he's practically a member of the family." She watched Nadia glance back at Sam, a twinkle in her eye, and wondered if Sam might become a real member of the family sometime in the near future.

Nadia looked at her parents. "I…we…we don't know yet what might happen. We're going to think about it, and write letters, and…when I come home from college for Thanksgiving, we'll see then what we might do."

Rose nodded, hoping that Nadia didn't think they were trying to push her into anything that she wasn't ready for, or that might not be right for her. Both John and Rose had come to admire and respect Sam, but whether he and Nadia advanced their relationship to anything more than what it already was was up to the young couple, not anyone else.

The train whistle blasted, warning the passengers to hurry aboard. As Nadia turned towards the train, John finally spoke. He hadn't known quite what to say to her since the incident the night before—especially after witnessing Nadia's life-saving resourcefulness. He had always regarded her as his quiet, shy daughter, but even after all the years that he had been her father, there were facets to her personality that he had never seen—and he was only now realizing that his little girl had grown up into a brave, intelligent woman.

"Nadia!" he called, hurrying after her.

She paused, waiting for him to catch up, keeping a nervous eye on the train. Sam was standing near the entrance with her suitcases, gesturing to her to hurry, but Nadia stopped for a moment to talk to her father.

"Dad…" she began, not sure what to say. She knew that he had regarded as his little girl before, and wondered what he thought now that he had seen this more grown-up side of her.

John hugged her quickly, knowing that she had to board the train. "Nadia, I'm proud of you. What you did last night to save Sam's life was dangerous, but I understand why you did it."

Nadia blushed a little, remembering her loving words to Sam—all of which her father had heard clearly. "Dad, I…"

"Nadia, I just wanted to tell you that whatever you decide to do in the future—about this, or about anything else—is all right with me, and with Rose. I think I've finally realized that you're grown up now—and while we'll always be here for you, we won't interfere in any decisions you make."

Nadia hugged him back. "Thank you, Dad. I'll remember that—but I'll probably still ask your advice. I always have."

"I know, Nadia. And we'll be there, whatever happens in your life."

The train gave a final warning whistle and started to move. Nadia let go of John and raced to the entrance, snatching her luggage from Sam and jumping aboard just as it began to pick up speed. She stood at the entrance, waving to them, until the train pulled out of the station and moved away down the tracks.


	51. Chapter Fifty One

**Chapter Fifty-One**

_August 20, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Rose walked silently beside John as they left the train station. Ordinarily, she would have gone back to the studio, and John back to the mill, but everyone was tired and emotionally drained from the events of the night before, and none of them felt much like going back to work.

Rose was relieved when Sam nodded to them and walked away in the direction of his home. She had given him the afternoon off from work in order to say good-bye to Nadia, but she was glad that he showed no desire to visit with them after he had seen Nadia off.

She knew that her feelings were irrational, but a part of her couldn't help but blame Sam for what had happened. Logically, she knew that he was not to blame for what had happened the night before, or for the rift in the family, but she couldn't help it. Seeing him reminded of the great risk they had taken the night before—it could as easily have ended in injury and death for some of the people involved—and of the fact that Nadia, the stepdaughter that she had known since she was a toddler, could have been harmed by the men who had attacked the couple.

And though it was equally irrational, a part of her blamed Sam for the fact that she had driven her mother from her home, casting her out in a world that had few prospects for anyone, but especially not an older woman who had worked only sporadically in her life, and who hadn't worked at all since the Depression had begun. She knew that Sam wasn't to blame—it was Ruth herself who had chosen to withhold the information that might have prevented the attack on Sam and Nadia, and it was Rose who chosen to force her mother from her home. Sam had been an innocent bystander who had been caught up in the trouble because of circumstances beyond his control.

Ruth was lucky that John had offered her a job in the mill, though it wasn't a type of work that she had ever done before, and there was no telling how well she would adapt to it. But John wasn't the sort of person who would allow his mother-in-law to wander hungry and homeless if he could help it.

Strangely enough, that angered Rose all the more. She felt betrayed, as though her husband had gone behind her back on an issue that was of great importance to her. She knew that Ruth would be begging on the streets without the job John had offered her, but a part of her felt that John should simply have gone along with her wishes and pushed Ruth away, forcing the woman to fend for herself and teaching her what life was like for those who were on the outskirts of society.

But Rose didn't know how to tell him this, nor did she believe that he would understand. He helped people—it was in his nature—and she doubted that it would even have occurred to him to push Ruth away. He might not have liked her actions, but he didn't know her as Rose did, didn't know what had happened in the past. In all likelihood, he would have tried to ignore the problem in hopes that it would go away.

Rose knew that it wouldn't have gone away. The anger and tension would have simmered just under the surface, waiting to break free, and when it finally had, the results would have been devastating, perhaps more devastating than the damage that Rose's furious impulse had caused.

And yet, removing Ruth from the Calvert household hadn't solved anything. It had only created more problems, problems that festered under the surface like a wound, and when they finally did come to the surface, the results would be devastating.


	52. Chapter Fifty Two

**Chapter Fifty-Two**

_August 21, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

John walked in the door, tired after a long day at work. Anders Cedar Rapids was more stable than it had been just after the stock market crash almost two years earlier, but it was still on shaky ground. He had to work hard every day to make sure that it remained solvent, that the workers got paid, and that the products manufactured there were shipped out to the markets that could actually make use of them.

Now there was the additional headache of making sure that the foreman he had fired did not try to return and sabotage the company to get back at John both for firing him and for ruining the Klan's plans two nights before. He had seen no sign of him, and in fact it was rumored that he had left town, taking his family with him. With a certainty, few if any of the routed Klan members wanted their identities known, but he was still concerned. It wouldn't be smart to forget the attack or the threats that had preceded it.

He walked into the kitchen, surprised to find Rose there. She had left early that morning, saying something about a long day of filming ahead of her, so he hadn't expected her to come home until late.

He wondered where Jane was—she usually came running to greet him—but then got his answer when he saw her standing on a chair on the other side of her mother, her face, dress, and arms covered with flour. Rose was making bread, punching the risen mass of dough so hard he wondered if it was someone's head she was envisioning.

She stopped when she saw him, then divided the dough into two balls and dropped them carelessly into a pair of greased loaf pans. Jane noticed him at that moment and climbed down from the chair, squealing and running up to him, flour puffing everywhere.

"Daddy! You're home!" She threw her arms around his legs, leaving his dark trousers covered with flour.

"Stop it, Jane!" Rose snapped, turning to her daughter. "You're making a mess."

"But Mommy…"

"It's all right, Rose," John told her, picking the little girl up, unmindful of the flour that quickly covered his suit jacket.

"That's one more thing to clean." Rose glared at them for a moment, then went back to her bread.

"I'll clean it myself, Rose. Jane always comes to greet me this way."

"She's old enough to learn not to make such messes."

John stared at her, wondering what had gotten her so upset. Jane got into things and made messes on a regular basis, but he had never seen Rose get so upset about it before. She scolded sometimes, but he hadn't seen her this angry over something so small before.

Before he could ask her what was wrong, though, she wiped her hands on her apron and turned to him. "How was your day? Does my mother make a good employee?" she asked, her voice sickly sweet.

"What?" John set Jane down and walked over to where Peter was playing on a blanket on the floor, picking the baby up.

"You heard what I said. Is my mother a good employee?" she asked, a definite edge to her voice this time.

He looked at her cautiously. "So far," he replied. "Of course, she's only just being trained now, but all she has to do is package baked products, so it shouldn't be that difficult."

"I see." Rose came over and took Peter from him, bouncing him against her shoulder as he began to whimper. "So she actually has some useful skills."

"She's been taking care of our home and children for the past two years while we worked to earn a living. Of course she has useful skills—"

"So, is that why you hired her?"

John closed his eyes for a moment, sighing inwardly. Rose hadn't said a word about Ruth since yesterday, but apparently she had been brooding about it the whole time.

"She needed some way to make a living. You know that."

"She wouldn't be in this position if she'd spoken out about what she heard."

"She wouldn't be in this position if you hadn't, for God knows what reason, taken what happened to Sam personally. I know something happened in the past that you've never resolved, but I'll be damned if I know what it is or why you're making an issue of it now."

"Don't swear, John. Not in front of the children." Rose set Peter back down on the blanket, then turned to face her husband. "The reason I feel as I do is no one's concern but my own, but suffice it to say that it is important, and I will not stand to see it happen again."

"I don't even know what you're talking about."

Rose whirled around and walked over to the oven, ignoring the fact that the bread wasn't ready to go in yet, shoved it inside, and slammed the door. Peter started fussing again, frightened by the slamming door and the tension in the room.

Rose picked her son up and cuddled him, glaring at John. "Why did you offer her a job?"

"What did you expect me to do? Allow her to just be put out on the streets with nothing?"

"After what she did…"

"What did she do that was so wrong? Tell me that! She failed to mention the words she'd overheard from angry, possibly drunken men. We overlooked the threats we'd received at our businesses! Nadia ignored a threatening letter she received! This is the fault of no one but those who felt the need to lynch an innocent man! Any one of us could have spoken up, but we chose not to! You're as guilty as anyone!"

Rose's eyes blazed angrily. "It isn't my fault, and you know it! You might as well blame Jane or Peter for what happened. My mother heard them talking about what they were planning and told no one! None of the rest of us had any specific knowledge of what was going on—except her! And she kept silent!"

"But if any of us had paid attention to those threats, we might have kept Sam and Nadia from going into town, might have prevented the whole thing from ever happening! But we didn't, and no one person can take the blame!"

Rose stiffened. "It wasn't the first time she kept her mouth shut when she should have said something."

"Whatever it was she kept quiet about, it was a long time ago. It's over."

"Yes, it's over, but it might not be over if she had simply spoken out! But she didn't! And the same thing goes for what happened to Sam and Nadia. They could have died, John! They could have been killed by those men in their stupid white hoods. Thank God they weren't! It's only the greatest of good luck that Nadia—_our_ daughter, John—is still alive and well."

"I doubt they would have killed her. They know how much influence we have—"

"Maybe not, but they might have done something else, and you know it! And if we hadn't arrived when we did, Sam would have been killed, and I would have lost a very good actor!"

"Is that what you're so upset about?" John stared at her incredulously. "You might have lost an _actor_?"

"No! That isn't it at all! It's only an example. Stop twisting my words!"

"I'm not twisting your words, Rose! You're the one who said it."

"Shut up! Just…shut up! I have seen enough of life and enough of the world to know that what happened two nights ago was wrong, and that it could have been prevented! But no one tried! No said anything—least of all the person who could have stopped this travesty from ever occurring! She _knew_—and she said nothing!"

"Had you been in her place, would you have said anything?"

"Yes!"

"But you had received threats at Dawson Studios because of your decision to hire Negro actors, and yet it never occurred to you that anyone would threaten Sam and Nadia."

"It isn't the same thing, and you know it!" Rose's voice was rising.

"But you know how the world works! White women and Negro men do not date, and Nadia and Sam went against that!"

"So you're saying it was their fault, then, for ignoring one of society's stupid rules?"

"No! That's not what I'm saying! Now who's twisting words?"

Rose set Peter down on the floor next to a frightened Jane, who clung to her little brother, trying to hide from her angry parents. "It all comes back to you! You gave my mother a job—in a time where millions are out of work—even after what she did—or rather, what she failed to do."

John moved closer to her, his voice growing very quiet. "Rose, she's family. No matter how you feel about her, I will not see a family member starving on the street if there's something I can do to prevent it. She's your mother. Whatever is in your past, you should remember that and try to forgive her."

"I did forgive her, John—and she did it again. I gave her a second chance, and she lost it. I won't give her a third."

"You don't have to. It's up to you. I would never treat my mother that way, God rest her soul. And I won't leave your mother out in the cold. I have loyalty to my family, even if you don't."

Rose's face went white. She stared at him, one trembling hand going to her mouth. "How can you say that? _How can you say that?_ I love my family. But there are some things that cannot be forgiven."

"Your mother forgave you for disappearing after the sinking of the Titanic and allowing her to think you dead all those years—but you can't forgive her for an error in judgment."

"An error in judgment that could have killed people! No one was harmed by what I did, but what Mother did—long ago, it contributed to someone's death. And now, it almost cost us Nadia and Sam."

Rose turned away, tears spilling from her eyes. "There are some things, John, that cannot be forgiven."


	53. Chapter Fifty Three

**Chapter Fifty-Three**

_August 22, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Rose sat in her director's chair, watching the scene before her, but her mind wasn't on the picture she was making.

She was still angry with John. They hadn't spoken since their argument the day before, and the silence had become so unbearable that he had finally left their bedroom, sleeping on the couch downstairs. Rose had cried herself to sleep, but presented a calm façade at breakfast the next morning.

Her concentration had been off all day. She had left Jane and Peter with the women she had hired to watch the actors' children and had gone to the set, but she couldn't focus. Time and time again, she had started the actors on a scene, only to forget what she was doing. More than once, the actors had finished a scene and then stopped, uncertain what to do when she had nothing to say. The crew had wondered what to do, too, but hadn't dared to take over when she was in her present mood. Even Polly didn't know what to say.

Now, realizing that yet another scene had ended without her recognizing it, Rose stood. "Cut!" she called. "Everybody take a break!" She turned to Polly, who was standing impatiently beside her, trying to get her attention. "What is it?"

"You have a phone call."

"Take a message. I'll call them back."

"It's from California."

That got Rose's attention. "Who is it?"

"Jonathan Hinesdale."

"All right. I'll take the call."

Rose hurried into her office, picking up the phone. "Rose Dawson here."

"Rose, it's good to talk to you. I saw your last picture, and it was excellent."

"Thank you, Mr. Hinesdale." She paused, knowing that he hadn't called all the way from Hollywood simply to compliment her on the last film she had directed. "Did you need something?"

"Rose, I'm directing a new picture starting next week—an epic of grand proportions. It has it all—romance, warfare, a story snatched straight from the ancient myths—and I want you to be my star. The title is—"

"Mr. Hinesdale, I'm flattered, but…I'm living in Iowa now, you know. I have my own studio, and I have a family. I have two small children—"

"And you're perfect for this role. I've auditioned fifty actresses, but none could match you. It's only for two months, perhaps a little longer. And this film will be partly in color—and the trade magazines have quoted you as saying you would like to work with color."

"Mr. Hinesdale…" Rose was weakening. She did want to learn about filming in color, but with the present tension between her husband and herself, she didn't know if it would be a good idea to be away for so long. And she did have small children to think about, though she could probably bring them with her, just as she had Christopher.

"Rose, the title of the film is _Only Yesterday_, and the character I want you to play has all the elements I know you love. She's the queen of a vast empire, but she's a warrior, too. And she has two lovers, but only one can win her heart. There's music and dancing and grand pageantry…"

"Mr. Hinesdale!"

"Come now, Rose. It's been five years since I've worked with you, but I know your work has only grown better with the passage of time. I have already cast your stepdaughter, Mary Calvert, in the role of the queen's chief advisor and lady in waiting. I'm certain she'd be more than happy to work with you."

Rose sighed. Hinesdale always seemed to know what to do to convince a reluctant actor to join the cast. The role sounded very attractive—she hadn't had any really big roles since she had started her own studio, though she knew she could have created them—and she had always enjoyed working with Jonathan Hinesdale. She could even bring her children with her, if need be.

But the current situation with her marriage wasn't as good as it should be before she left on a prolonged trip. And yet, as angry as she and John were with each other right now, it might be a good idea to have some time apart, some time to think about things. They could always talk on the telephone and write to each other over the ensuing time.

She still wasn't sure that such a separation would be a good idea, but the more she thought about it, the more she knew she needed a break from the tension in her family, from the strain of running the studio, from the small town where her every move was known. Taking this role seemed to be just the way to get the time off she needed.

"All right, Mr. Hinesdale. You've convinced me. I'll take the role of—what is my character's name?"

"Queen Janella, ruler of the Munitalpe Empire."

"I'll be there. When do you start filming, exactly?"

"August twenty-eighth."

Rose thought quickly. She would need to leave the next day to be there on time and have time to get settled and study her role. She didn't know how John would react to her sudden departure, but she would worry about that when she talked to him that evening.

XXXXX

That night, after supper was over, Rose quietly approached John. He was sitting in the living room, looking over some papers from work. Nervously, she sat down in an easy chair across from him.

"John."

He looked up. "What is it, Rose?" There was a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"We need to talk."

He set the papers aside. "We most certainly do, but why don't we wait until after Jane and Peter are asleep?"

"John, this is important. We need to talk now."

He sighed. "What is it?"

"Jonathan Hinesdale called me this afternoon…"

"Who?"

"Jonathan Hinesdale, who I worked with several times in Hollywood."

"And?"

"He wants me to go to California for a couple of months to star in his new epic."

"You told him no, of course."

Rose stiffened slightly. "Actually, I told him yes."

"What! Rose, your life is here. You can't just go running off to Hollywood whenever you feel like it."

"Filming starts on the twenty-eighth. I'm leaving tomorrow."

John looked at her, his face set. "Oh, really? And what about Jane and Peter?"

"I'm taking them with me. I can take them to the set with me."

"And when were you going to ask me about this?"

"I'm not asking you anything. I'm telling you."

"Rose…"

"I'm your wife, John, not some foreman at Anders Cedar Rapids…" She trailed off, remembering a similar conversation with another man nineteen years earlier.

"Rose, do you really think this is a good time to leave, after all that's happened?"

"It's because of all that's happened that I need to leave for a while. I need a break, John. I need to get away from this small town for a while. I need to get away from my mother. An after the argument we had yesterday and the way you're reacting to my news, I need to get away from you, too."

John stared at her, his papers lying forgotten on the coffee table. "Rose…"

She got to her feet. "I'm going to get packed, John, both my own things and the children's."

She turned to go, surprised by a sudden rush of tears. She hadn't wanted it to be like this. She'd hoped, deep inside, that John would understand her need to get away for a while and her desire to take this role. She had been under a lot of pressure for a long time. The incident with Sam and Ruth and the Klan was simply the latest in a series of occurrences that had been troubling her.

Had there been the time and the money, she would have talked John into a family vacation long before, taking the needed break from their everyday lives without splitting the family. But there hadn't been, and the only way she could justify taking a break was to work, to take this role and return when she was finished. It wouldn't be forever. Would it?

"Rose."

She stopped, looking at the ceiling and blinking hard to hold back her tears. "What is it, John?"

"When will you be back?"

Rose turned briefly and looked at him. "I don't know, John. I really don't know."


	54. Chapter Fifty Four

**JOHN AND ROSE  
Chapter Fifty-Four**

_November, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Christopher crouched behind a crate, waiting for a moment when the rail workers would be distracted. He had been riding the rails for over a week now, sneaking aboard freight trains and slowly making his way back to Iowa.

He had gone to California first, just as Mary had hoped, but in spite of her "connections", he hadn't been able to make a living as an actor, and had soon moved on. He had gone to Oregon after that, doing whatever odd jobs he could find to support himself, but there was a lot of competition for work, and what he could find didn't pay well—he could rarely afford shelter unless it was a part of his wages. It hadn't mattered much in the summer, but as winter approached, he found that camping out was becoming more and more difficult—and he was more hungry when it was cold and he couldn't find work, too.

He knew that his father had survived five years on the road, but economic conditions had been better then, work more plentiful—and his father hadn't had the option of returning home. Much as Christopher wanted to see the world, he wasn't used to this life, and by October, thoughts of returning home to Iowa had consumed him. Late in October, he had sneaked aboard a train heading east, and had been slowly making his way back towards Cedar Rapids ever since.

An argument broke out over the best way to move some freight. Crouching low, Christopher dashed out from behind the crate and headed for the rail yard fence. He was halfway up the fence before anyone noticed his presence.

"Hey, you! Come back here!" An angry shout rose from the small group of workers.

Christopher ignored the shout, judging that he could be over the fence before anyone could catch him. He just hoped that none of them recognized him—that could make it uncomfortable for him now that he was back in town.

Reaching the top of the fence, he jumped off the other side, landing with only a slight stumble. Seconds later, he was running down the road, heading in the direction of his old home.

XXXXX

Christopher was dismayed—but not surprised—to find no one home. Leaving his few belongings out of sight under the porch, he washed up quickly at an icy faucet in the yard and headed into town, deciding to stop at Anders Cedar Rapids first, as it was closer than his mother's movie studio.

When he arrived there, he walked straight in, ignoring the receptionist's look of distaste at his tattered appearance. She moved to stop him, but then, recognizing him, waved him on, looking at him a bit strangely as he passed by.

When he reached John's office, he nodded to Mrs. Wilde, whose eyes widened at the sight of him. He grinned, a bit sheepishly. He knew he didn't look his best right now.

"Uncle John?" He slowly opened the door to John's office when Mrs. Wilde indicated that he could go in.

John looked up from the paperwork he was doing, both surprised and pleased to see his stepson. "Christopher! What are you doing here? When did you get back into Cedar Rapids?"

Christopher ducked his head, a bit embarrassed. "Well…life is hard out there, so I thought I'd come home for a while…I know that's not what I thought I'd do, but…"

"Mary wrote to tell us that you'd left Los Angeles. Why didn't you write to us after that?"

"Well…um…I didn't think about it much…and I didn't really have the money for sending a letter anyway…"

John frowned at him. "Surely you could have written at least once. We were worried about you."

Christopher shuffled his feet, looking down. "I'm sorry, Uncle John."

"Not even Mary knew exactly where you'd gone." John sighed. "Well, you're back now. How did you get here, by the way?"

"I…uh…I…"

"Sneaked aboard trains, did you?" John looked pointedly at Christopher's black eye, an injury received during a scuffle with another man in a boxcar.

"Well…I didn't have any other way to get here…Oregon is a long way away."

"Oregon! You did travel far."

"Yeah…well…I'm back now. Uh…there wouldn't happen to be any job openings at Anders, would there?"

"None right now, but I can try to fit you in somewhere."

"Or maybe Mom has something open."

John sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "No, I guess you wouldn't have heard."

"Heard what?"

"Your mother and grandmother had a falling out late in August, and your grandmother is now living with friends on the other side of town and working here. Your mother and I had some…tensions…between us over that, especially since I offered your grandmother a job instead of letting her try to survive on the street. A few days later, your mother was offered a role in an 'epic production' directed by her old friend Jonathan Hinesdale, and she took your brother and sister and went to California. She hasn't been back since."

Christopher frowned. "When is she supposed to be back?"

"Last week."

"What?"

"I last spoke to her three days ago. She said she was still filming, but Mary told me that they'd finished almost two weeks ago. Both Rose and Mary are in this picture."

"Maybe Mom had some stuff to finish up that Mary isn't in."

John shook his head. "Maybe, but I doubt it. I don't know what she's doing right now—or if she has any intention of coming back."

"She has to. Her studio is here…she wouldn't abandon that."

"Miss Markman has been doing an admirable job of running the studio in your mother's absence."

"So…what does this mean? Are you two getting a divorce?" Christopher was uncomfortable with the idea, in spite of the fact that he had been less than pleased with the idea of John and Rose marrying several years earlier.

"I don't know, Christopher. I really don't. I would like her to come home so we can try to work things out, but…"

"What did she and Grandma Ruth fight about, anyway?" Christopher asked. "What was so important about it that she got mad at you for giving Grandma Ruth a job?"

"I don't know all the details, Christopher. What I do know is that your grandmother overheard some men making threats towards Nadia and a young man she was dating, Sam Blass, and failed to warn them before they went out for one last date before Nadia returned to college. That night, they were attacked by several local members of the Ku Klux Klan—are you familiar with them?"

Christopher nodded. "I met a Klan member in Oregon…he was absolutely certain that his views and what he was doing were right, and nothing would change his mind. Mom would have called him insufferable."

"And possibly a few other choice words. At any rate, the Klan members attacked Nadia and Sam—"

"Why did they attack them?"

"They were offended by the idea of a white woman and a Negro man dating."

"Sam is Negro?"

"Yes—not that it matters to Nadia—or to Sam, for that matter."

Christopher thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "I know that some people violently object to a relationship like that, but…why did they attack Nadia? Didn't they realize who she was…or more importantly, who you are?"

"They did, and that was why they chose such a sneaky way of going about their attack. They wore their hoods and…I'm not sure what the other part of their costumes are. They look like bed sheets. Whatever they're called, they use them as a disguise. Anyway, they attacked them as they were walking back here. Nadia managed to bite their ringleader, James Saunders—"

"Mr. Saunders? But he always seemed so quiet!"

"So did Nadia, but she was the one who wound up rescuing Sam."

Christopher gaped at him, astonished at the idea of his quiet, ladylike stepsister rescuing someone from the Klan. "How did she do that?"

"The Klan members took Sam away in a car, and Nadia ran home to get us. Your mother and I got our guns and went looking for Sam, Nadia tagging along. We found him in time to prevent him from being lynched…although we had the help of a mob of local men who detested the Klan for various reasons. Some, I'm sure, were just looking for excitement, but whatever their motivation, they were there when we needed them. At any rate, your mother and I identified Saunders and held him at gunpoint while Nadia managed to climb the tree they were trying to hang Sam from and cut through the rope with a knife she had sneaked out of the house."

"It sounds like something out of a movie."

"Nadia has said that she got the idea from movies, although real life didn't work nearly as well or as easily…the branch she was sitting on to cut the rope broke, and she was lucky that she didn't fall on the knife or injure herself in the fall…ironically enough, she landed on Saunders and that broke her fall."

"So she saved Sam's life."

"Yes. He still works for your mother's studio."

"Is he an actor?"

"Yes. He's been in three films now."

Christopher nodded, thinking. "But what does this have to do with Mom and Grandma Ruth falling out?"

"Your mother was very upset that your grandmother hadn't said anything about what she'd overheard…although she did try to warn Nadia and Sam, after a fashion. Unfortunately, they took it as just more of her rude remarks about them and ignored her. If she had said something openly, they might not have gone out that night, or they would at least have been more careful. But Ruth wasn't sure that what she'd overheard really meant anything—many men will talk big without ever doing anything—and as she later told me, she didn't want to be accused of trying to ruin those men's reputations if what she overheard was just talk."

Christopher nodded; his grandmother had always been concerned with what others thought, unlike his mother, who did as she pleased and usually got away with it, possibly because she was confident. Ruth had never had quite so much confidence.

John went on. "Your mother and grandmother argued…your mother reminded her about another incident, apparently one that happened on the Titanic, in which Ruth let an innocent man be taken away and locked up while the ship was sinking. I don't really know how much in common these two incidents had, but your mother felt very strongly about it and said that your grandmother hadn't changed at all, and then demanded that she leave the house. I told Ruth that there would be a job for her if she wanted it—and that was what set your mother off against me."

Christopher frowned. "I know that Mom has some strong views about things, but she isn't usually cruel like that."

"I don't know much about the incident that happened on the Titanic, but it seems to have involved both your mother and grandmother…and your mother has never forgotten about it…or forgiven it, apparently."

"Could it have involved my father?"

"I don't know, Christopher. She didn't say."

"If it did, then maybe I can talk her into coming back. She shouldn't have done that to Grandma Ruth, but maybe they can make up. I remember when I first met Grandma Ruth, how overwhelmed she and Mom looked to see each other. They might get mad at each other, but still…I think Mom still cares for her mother."

"She probably does, but she has a damnable amount of pride, as does your grandmother. I'll be honest, Christopher. I'm worried about your grandmother. She's not in good health. She's getting old, and her health was starting to fail when she lived with us. It's worse now. I don't know how long she can continue to work, and her friends can't afford to support her if she isn't working."

"Couldn't she get relief from the government?"

"She could, but she won't. She refuses to take charity."

"But she was always happy to live with us."

"I think she viewed that a little differently. She—"

John was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Mr. Calvert?" Mrs. Wilde opened the door slightly.

"What is it, Mrs. Wilde?"

"The foreman of the baked goods packing line is here…he says it's about your mother-in-law."

"I'll be right out." He sighed and headed for the door, Christopher following him. "What's going on, Mr. Kinley?"

"Mr. Calvert, it's your mother-in-law…Mrs. DeWitt Bukater collapsed while working a few minutes ago…I've already called the doctor."

"Shit." John turned and rushed in the direction of the packing room, Christopher close on his heels.


	55. Chapter Fifty Five

**JOHN AND ROSE  
Chapter Fifty-Five**

_November 8, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

John and Christopher sat in the waiting room at Mercy Hospital, where Ruth had been sent not long after Dr. Malone, the Anders Cedar Rapids company doctor, had examined her and diagnosed a heart attack.

Christopher fidgeted restlessly, wishing he'd made it back to Cedar Rapids a few days earlier, when he might have seen his grandmother in at least somewhat better health. When he had asked Dr. Malone if he thought she would be all right, the doctor had hemmed and hawed and finally said that they would run some tests at the hospital. Christopher didn't find this encouraging, although he still held out some hope that Dr. Malone was simply covering his own back in case his diagnosis was wrong.

"Christopher, sit still."

Christopher jumped slightly at the sound of his stepfather's voice, then stopped drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Do you think Grandma Ruth will be okay, Uncle John?"

John hesitated. He had seen far more of illness and death in his life than Christopher had, but he wasn't a doctor. Although Ruth had looked bad when he had seen her being loaded into a vehicle for the ride to the hospital, he couldn't be sure of what it really meant.

"I don't know, Christopher. Someone will tell us how she is doing when the tests are finished."

"But it's been over an hour since we got here! What's taking so long?"

"Would you rather they rushed and didn't do everything they can for her?"

Christopher hung his head. "No…I'm just worried, is all." He hesitated, thinking. "Does Mom know?"

"I haven't had access to a telephone, nor have I had time to send a telegram, so no, she doesn't know."

"You are going to tell her, aren't you? Even if she and Grandma Ruth are mad at each other, she'll still want to know."

"I'll call and tell her as soon as I have a chance—or you can call her. I have the number of the house she's staying in."

"Uncle John…do you think Grandma Ruth might die?" Christopher's voice was as quiet and forlorn as a child's.

"I don't know, Christopher. I'm not a doctor. I hope not, but…I really don't know."

XXXXX

Two hours later, a nurse in nun's garb came to the waiting room, looking for them.

"Mr. Calvert? Mr. Dawson?"

John and Christopher got to their feet in a hurry, quickly making their way over to her. Christopher tugged at his hair nervously, his worry evident.

"Is she going to be okay?" he asked the nurse, looking afraid and hopeful at the same time.

She hesitated, bowing her head slightly. "Mr. Dawson, Mr. Calvert…it doesn't look good, I'm afraid. I'm sorry."

John put a comforting arm around his stepson's shoulders. "Can we see her?" he asked.

She gestured to them to follow her. "Dr. Caldwell would like to speak with you."

"Can we see her?" Christopher persisted.

"Yes, but Dr. Caldwell wants to talk to you first."

They followed her upstairs. Dr. Caldwell was waiting outside Ruth's room. He nodded when he saw them approaching.

"Thank you, Sister Katherine. You can go now," he told her.

She nodded, turning and heading down the hall towards the nurse's station, glancing back at the three men as she went.

"Mr. Calvert, may I speak to you alone?" Dr. Caldwell asked John.

"You can talk to me, too!" Christopher protested. "I'm her grandson!"

"Mr. Dawson…"

"He has the right to hear this, too, Dr. Caldwell. He's been worrying about her for hours."

The doctor thought about it for a moment, then sighed. "All right. Mr. Calvert, Mr. Dawson, it doesn't look good. Mrs. DeWitt Bukater has had a major heart attack, and I doubt she'll live more than a few days, if that. She's very weak, and getting weaker."

"But…" Christopher stared at Dr. Caldwell pleadingly. "Isn't there something you can do? She's my grandmother!"

"We're doing everything we can," Dr. Caldwell told him, shaking his head. "It looks like she hasn't been in good health for quite some time."

John nodded. "I don't think she has been, either, although she never said anything. In fact, it seemed that her health was starting to deteriorate some months ago, and then she had a falling out with my wife and was expelled from our home. She's been living with friends for the past two months, and working for Anders Cedar Rapids."

Dr. Caldwell shook his head. "She shouldn't have been working."

"I tried to help her get on relief when I realized how hard the work was for her, but she wouldn't take charity—not even when I tried to offer her money myself. She was happy enough to live with my family, but after the incident last summer, she seemed to want to stand on her own two feet and maintain her pride."

"She's not that old," Christopher ventured. "She's only sixty-one…I've known people who lived longer than that."

"Quite a number do," Dr. Caldwell agreed, "but…I'm afraid your grandmother isn't going to be one of them."

"I don't want her to die!" Christopher was trying to be brave and act like a man, but it was hard when the grandmother he'd grown close to over the years lay dying inside a cold, sterile hospital room.

"Christopher…" John shook his head. He remembered how hard it had been for him when he had received word of his mother's death just over a year ago…and he hadn't even be able to afford to attend the funeral in London. At least Christopher had returned home in time to see his grandmother once more. "May we see her now?" he asked Dr. Caldwell.

The doctor nodded, opening the door and escorting them inside the room. Ruth lay inside an oxygen tent, an IV attached to her left arm. Dr. Caldwell drew back one of the flaps of the oxygen tent.

"Mrs. DeWitt Bukater? Are you awake?"

Ruth groaned slightly, then opened her eyes, turning her head with effort to look at her visitors.

"Grandma Ruth?" Christopher stepped forward slowly, not sure what to say to her.

"Chris…you're back…where's…Rose?" Ruth struggled to speak, each word a great effort.

"She's…she's still in California, Grandma. We're going to call her and tell her to come home…"

John nodded, hoping that Rose would agree to come home. Surely she would want to see her mother one last time, even under the circumstances in which they had parted.

"Ruth?" John leaned forward to speak to her.

"Hmm?" Ruth looked at him distantly, only half-aware he was there.

"We'll get Rose home, whatever it takes…and you don't have to worry about medical bills. I'll take care of it…you're family."

"Where's…Rose?"

"She'll be here as soon as she can, Ruth," John assured her, hoping that it was true. If Rose was going to come home to Cedar Rapids, he hoped it would be now.

XXXXX

After he got home, John called the other members of the family to let them know what was going on. He called Nadia first. She was very distressed at the news, and John agreed to wire her the money for the trip home.

He called Mary next, and she told him that she would be on the next train to Iowa—she was making enough money of her own that John didn't need to send any to her. He cautioned her not to speak to Rose about Ruth until he had contacted her himself.

Rose was the last one he called. He hesitated at first before phoning her, unsure of how she would react to the news that her mother was dying. She had still been angry with Ruth when she had left for California, and had felt that John had betrayed her by helping her mother. He had spoken to her a few times since, but the conversations had been short, and although he knew she was finished with her film, she had made no indication that she was coming home soon.

Finally, he put the call through to the bungalow Rose and the children were staying in. She answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Rose? It's John."

"Oh, John. I should be coming home soon…I just have a few more things to finish up here."

"Mary told me that you finished filming over a week ago." John couldn't keep the anger out of his voice.

Rose was silent for a moment. Finally, she told him, "Some of my scenes needed re-shooting."

"Considering how many of your scenes included Mary, I think she would have told me if you were re-shooting anything."

Rose sighed, growing angry. "All right, John. Yes, you're right. I finished the film over a week ago. I just didn't _want_ to come home yet. Things are very peaceful here, away from all the tension…of which you are one cause."

"I would prefer not to discuss this over the phone. Whatever problems we have, I want to discuss them in person."

"Do you plan on coming here, then? From the way you're talking, I'm not so sure I want to come home."

"You have to come home sometime. Christopher is here, and you have _our_ children with you. I have as much right to see them as you."

"I will come home when I'm good and ready."

"It had better be soon, if you want to see your mother again."

"Excuse me?"

John took a deep breath. "Look, Rose, I called you for a reason. I didn't call you to complain that you haven't come home yet, or to demand that you bring Jane and Peter back to Iowa. I called because your mother is dying, and she wants to see you one more time before she goes."

"What?" Rose couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "Mother is…dying?"

"She suffered a heart attack at work earlier today…the doctor doesn't think she has much time left. If you want to see her again, you'll come home immediately."

"I…I…"

"Rose, she's your mother. Whatever disagreements you have, you'll never forgive yourself if you don't come to see her now."

"John, I…all right. I will pack up and get the next train to Iowa."

"Mary is already making train reservations. Call her and tell her your plans…you can travel together."

Rose took a deep breath, surprised at the catch in her throat. _Mother is dying…if only I hadn't put her out of the house, she might be all right._

"Rose?" John wondered at her silence.

"I…thank you, John, for telling me. I'll see you in a few days."

"All right. Good-bye, Rose."

"Good-bye, John. I—"

He had already hung up.

Shakily, Rose replaced the receiver and leaned against the wall a moment. She was going home to Iowa. She hadn't been sure when, or if, she would return, but the decision had been taken out of her hands.

XXXXX

John awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. Squinting at his alarm clock in the darkness, he saw that it was not quite three o'clock in the morning. With a sense of dread, he got up and hurried down the stairs to the telephone. Christopher followed after him, looking at the telephone with the same dread John felt.

On the sixth ring, John answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Mr. Calvert?"

"Speaking."

"Mr. Calvert, this is Sister Katherine with Mercy Hospital. It is my sad duty to inform you that your mother-in-law, Ruth DeWitt Bukater, passed away about half an hour ago."

John looked at Christopher, seeing from the look on the young man's face that he already knew. "Is she…" Christopher whispered.

John nodded, holding out a comforting hand to his stepson, who looked like he might cry. However Rose felt about her mother, Christopher had loved his grandmother.

John's thoughts were interrupted by Sister Katherine's voice. "Mr. Calvert? Are you still there?"

John cleared his throat. "Uh…yes. Yes, I'm still here."

"We need someone to come to the hospital to fill out the paperwork. You can wait until morning if you want, but…"

"No…I'll be there in about half an hour." John knew there would be no getting back to sleep tonight.

"All right, Mr. Calvert…someone will meet with you at the hospital."

"Thank you, Sister Katherine."

When John hung up the phone, he found that Christopher had raced upstairs to get his clothes and was even now hurrying into them. "I'm going with you," the young man announced stubbornly.

John just nodded. "All right, Christopher. We'll leave as soon as I'm dressed."


	56. Chapter Fifty Six

**JOHN AND ROSE  
Chapter Fifty-Six**

_November 10, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Rose sat up straighter in her seat as the train pulled into the station in Cedar Rapids. Mary, who was sitting beside her, gave her a reassuring look as Rose peered out the window, wondering who, if anyone, would be waiting for them.

When they disembarked the train a few minutes later, each carrying a small child, Rose saw that Christopher was waiting for them, eyeing the men working at the station warily as though afraid he would get into trouble. She half-smiled, guessing that he had been riding the rails and was afraid of getting caught.

Her smile faded when she saw the grim look on her son's face as he came towards them. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Mary," he greeted them, but he had none of his usual enthusiasm. His younger sister and brother stared at him, Jane reaching out to him when she finally remembered who he was. Peter ducked his head and clung to his mother, having no memory of his older brother.

"Christopher, I'm so glad you're home." Rose leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek, her arms too full to hug him.

"Yeah…I guess I came home just in time…I wasn't expecting this to happen."

"How is she?" Mary asked, handing her bags to her stepbrother.

Christopher looked surprised for a moment, then uncomfortable. "I guess Uncle John's telegram didn't get to you."

Rose shook her head, a lump rising in her throat as she guessed what had happened. "It must have missed us…we left only an hour after he called."

"Mom…Grandma Ruth died about 2:30 yesterday morning."

Rose gasped, a strangled sound that frightened the baby in her arms. She turned her attention to soothing Peter as he began to whimper, taking a moment to try to compose herself.

_Mother is gone,_ she thought, lowering her head to hide the tears that had suddenly filled her eyes. _If only I hadn't put her out of the house, she might still be alive. If only I had come home when I finished the picture, I would have at least gotten a chance to see her. Now she's gone, and I never had a chance to say I'm sorry. I never got a chance to say good-bye._

She looked up as Mary took a squalling Peter from her. Christopher dug through his pockets, finally handing her a clean handkerchief. Gratefully, she took it from him and wiped her eyes, only then realizing that she was sobbing.

Christopher wrapped an arm around her, then took her bags.

"Come on, Mom. Let's go home."

* * *

The house was silent when they arrived. Christopher had informed them that Nadia was on her way and would probably arrive early the next morning.

Rose thought that John would probably be at work, but to her surprise, he was sitting at the table in the kitchen, going over some paperwork. He looked up when she came in, then quickly went back to what he was doing.

"So, you did decide to come home. I wasn't sure you would."

"Of course I did, John. She was my mother…and it was time to come home, anyway."

"I take it Christopher told you that she passed away?"

"Yes, he did." Rose lowered her eyes. "John, I'm sorry. If only I'd come home sooner…"

"But you didn't."

"I didn't know."

He finally looked at her, pushing the papers away. "You knew her health was poor even before you put her out of the house."

"I never thought it would come to this."

"You claim to have so much compassion for others, and yet you put an old woman—your own _mother_—out on the street because she did something you disagreed with."

"That's unfair and you know it! She almost cost two people their lives! And she wasn't on the street—she had friends she could go to, and you gave her a job!"

"Which was too much for her."

"I'm not the one who offered her a job that she couldn't handle."

"No…you only made it so that she had no choice. I tried to get her to go on relief, Rose. I even offered her money, but she wouldn't take it. She had a lot of pride, and she wasn't going to take charity—mine or the government's."

"I find that hard to believe, considering how happy she was to live with us whenever she could—and how happy she was to try to marry me off to a rich man when I was barely seventeen."

"Did it ever occur to you that people can learn from their mistakes, that they can change? You're still angry and bitter over things that happened almost twenty years ago. And don't try to tell me that she intended to do Sam and Nadia harm by not speaking up about what she overheard. None of us paid attention to the warnings. If even one of us had, things might have been very different. But you insisted upon blaming your mother because of something that happened decades ago."

"I never meant for any of this to happen. She was my mother, John. I was angry, but I never wished for her death."

"Whether you wished for it or not, she's gone. But if you hadn't decided to hold a grudge over something that happened a long time ago—something you've never explained to me—she might still be alive. You never bothered to stop and think that she might not have meant any harm in keeping what was essentially gossip to herself. You judged her without thinking, just as you accused her of judging others."

Rose sank into a chair, tears spilling down her cheeks. "It isn't my fault. I can't tell the future."

"Neither could she, nor anyone else."

"That's exactly it…but now you seem to be blaming me."

"You couldn't even be bothered to come home when you finished your film."

"I came as soon as you called me!"

"She was worried about you. Did you know that? She was afraid that you would stay in California, that you would do something to destroy our marriage…and then regret it."

"Is that why you're treating me this way? Do you want a divorce?"

"Do you?"

Rose started to answer, then stopped, realizing that she didn't know what she wanted. "When is the funeral?" she asked.

He stared at her for a moment, knowing that she was avoiding his question. "It's on Thursday, November twelfth."

"Why was she working on a Sunday, anyway? Aren't you usually closed on Sundays?"

"There have been more orders coming in, so I kept the mill open on Sunday to fill them. I paid people twice their usual wages to work that day. She wanted to come in, so I let her."

"So, she was overworked."

"It was her decision!"

They glared at each other, Rose trying not to break down. "I wonder why she felt the need to work on her day off. Maybe you didn't pay her enough to live on."

"I paid her the same as anyone else in her position. It was enough for other people—perhaps she felt the need for more after living in comfort for so many years."

"Goddammit, John! It's not my fault!"

"I didn't say it was."

"You've been saying it ever since I came in here." Rose bit her lip, refusing to break down as she wanted to.

"I think you feel like it's your fault."

"Maybe I do, but you don't have to agree with me! Look at you, sitting there and working on your paperwork like nothing happened. She was just your mother-in-law—someone you often wished would find a place of her own."

"Yes, I would have liked a little more time with my wife and children and less of her interference. But she was still family. And this paperwork, Rose? This is for her funeral."

Rose paled. "John, I…"

He sighed. "Rose, I'm sorry. I think we got off on the wrong foot. You're right. It's not your fault. Her health was poor even before she left…this probably would have happened anyway." He reached for her hand, but she drew it away, shaking her head. "Rose?"

"No, John, you were right in the first place. If I hadn't put her out of the house, she might be alive now. Even if she wasn't, she would have been comfortable in her last few months of life. She would still have had her family around her."

"I saw her often, and Christopher got back here just before…"

"I should have been here. I was wrong to put her out, wrong to run off to California and make up excuses not to come home. I was her daughter…and then I wasn't there for her." She got to her feet, her hands clenched so tightly her fingernails dug into her skin.

"Rose…" John stood, reaching towards her in an attempt to comfort her, but she brushed past him.

"No. Please, just leave me alone right now. I abandoned my mother in her last days, and I don't deserve any comfort." She looked back at him, her eyes red and swollen. "And if it's a divorce you want, I won't fight you. I know I behaved abominably."

"Rose, I don't—"

"Not now, John. I can't think right now. Maybe later, after everything's said and done…then we can discuss it. But right now, I just want to be alone."

With that, she walked out of the kitchen, leaving him to his thoughts.


	57. Chapter Fifty Seven

**JOHN AND ROSE  
Chapter Fifty-Seven**

_November 12, 1931  
Cedar Rapids, Iowa_

Rose went through the next few days in a haze of grief, regret, and self-recrimination. In spite of the efforts of Mary and Christopher to comfort her and bring her out of herself, she could think of nothing but her mother and the fact that she had put her out of the house, condemning her to spend her last few months struggling to survive.

Her thoughts didn't end with her recent actions, either—over and over she tormented herself with thoughts of the past, thoughts of every time she had defied her mother or hurt her in some way, however inadvertently. Her actions on the Titanic went through her mind almost as much as her recent behavior towards her mother—walking away from the security Ruth had craved in favor of an affair with a penniless artist, then pretending to be dead. It had been eleven years before Ruth had learned that Rose was still alive, and two years more before they had met again. Now, Rose wished she hadn't hidden away, hadn't wasted so many years.

There was nothing she could do about it, though. No matter how much she wished things were different, she couldn't change the past.

When Nadia arrived home early on the morning of the eleventh, Rose was surprised at the resentment she felt towards her stepdaughter. If Nadia hadn't taken up with Sam, the Klan would never have been outraged by their relationship and would never have had the conversation that Ruth had failed to tell Sam and Nadia about. The attack that had nearly cost Sam his life would never have happened, and Rose would never have turned on her mother for not reporting what she'd heard. If none of those things had happened, Ruth might still be alive.

All the same, Rose couldn't entirely blame Nadia for her attraction to Sam—not when it had been Rose who had insisted that Nadia tutor him, thus giving the young people's attraction to one another a chance to grow.

In spite of her grief and her underlying desire to find someone else to blame for what had happened, Rose admitted to herself that she had made many bad decisions recently and shown poor judgment—though even now she doubted that Sam and Nadia would regard her decision to have Nadia teach Sam to read and write as poor judgment. Still, it all kept coming back to her—her own bad decisions had caused her mother's death, and there was nothing she could do to change things.

*****

The day of the funeral was cold, but much sunnier than Rose would have thought possible for such a sad day. Still lost in her misery, Rose sat and stared outside at the incongruously bright day, ignoring her two youngest children when they cried for her and leaving the others to care for them.

John had tried to speak to her a few times, but he wasn't sure what to say. After the months of separation and with Rose's obvious grief over the loss of her mother, he didn't know quite how to approach her. Like Rose, he wasn't sure what the future would hold—or what he wanted it to hold—but he did know that now wasn't the time to talk to her about it. He didn't know when the time would come, and in the meantime, Rose seemed to be slipping farther and farther away from him.

Rose sat beside John in the car on the way to the funeral, but she didn't speak to him, offering him only a half-hearted smile when he opened the door for her when they arrived at the church. She walked beside him but apart from him when they went inside, pulling her hand away when he attempted to take it, trying to comfort her.

Nothing seemed quite real to Rose as they entered the church, John beside her and the five children behind them, Mary carrying Jane and Nadia carrying Peter. The bright sunshine, the thin and rapidly melting layer of snow on the ground outside, the mourners dressed in black—none of it was real. Something she had said long ago ran through her mind. _"It's like being in a dream or something. There's truth, but no logic."_ Then she had been referring to a painting. Now those words seemed to fit her mother's funeral equally well.

At least, they did until Rose approached the open casket at the front of the church to pay her last respects to the woman who had been her mother, but who, it seemed, had always been in conflict with her from the day she was born. When Rose caught sight of Ruth, lying still and cold and pale in the casket, the reality of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks.

Her breath caught in her throat as the self-protective haze of grief mixed with denial was torn away. This was real. It wasn't a dream. Her mother was dead—she wasn't coming back. Her marriage was in trouble—there was no guarantee that it would last much longer. The future was uncertain—all she knew was that she would have to face it with the knowledge that she had put her mother out of the house over an incident made worse in her own mind by something that had happened nearly two decades before. She had made matters worse by leaving for several months and not returning when her picture was finished. Now the future stretched bleakly before her.

When the fog that had been over Rose's mind for the past two days lifted, the pain came. For a moment, she was certain that her heart would stop, that she would soon lie in a grave beside her mother. Soon enough, however, she found herself breathing again, her husband and eldest son looking at her with concern and guiding her to a front pew.

Finally, the tears came. Rose pulled the veil of her black hat down over her face, hiding it from view. She groped in her coat pocket for a handkerchief, but couldn't find one. Dimly, she felt John press one into her hand. Lifting the veil only slightly, she wiped her eyes, allowing her to see the minister at the front of the church.

The words of the sermon meant little to her. All she could focus on was the simple wooden casket at the front of the church—not what her mother would have wanted, she was certain, but there was no money for fancy boxes to bury the dead—and the woman inside. _Mother!_ she screamed inside. _Mother!_

Fearing that she had spoken aloud, Rose put her fingers to her lips, making sure that no one heard her private thoughts.

_Oh, Mother, can you ever forgive me? I was wrong to put you out of the house—so wrong. If only I'd shown more compassion, if only I'd been able to forgive you for what happened on the Titanic, you'd still be here. If you can't forgive me—if you're even capable of forgiving anyone or feeling anything anymore—I understand. Of course I understand. What I did was unforgivable._

Rose clutched the borrowed handkerchief tightly in one hand, her attention completely focused on Ruth.

_I don't think I'll ever even forgive myself._


End file.
